#perhaps after they big strap Swerve

[fang-revives]

At least with him going to AEW we get jaykada

you would not believe how many fic revisions I've had to do because of this, smdh

but! but I am looking forward to more of that. I also think Okada should put on an absolute banger with Swerve sometime soon :D

[mandoalorian]

Chicken Nuggets [Marcus Moreno x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: Marcus is back on the dating scene for the first time since his wife passed. Tonight is the night, and he’s a little insecure, but he hopes he can show you how much you mean to him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, car sex!!!, male receiving oral/road head (do not try at home!!), food mention, alcohol mention, feelings, tooth rotting fluff, Marcus is so adorable I’m gonna cry.

Word count: 2000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED! ✨

Masterlist

Marcus Moreno was a gentleman. He was caring, and affectionate -- and unlike any other guy  you had ever been with, he was an excellent listener. He’d always ask about your day and he loved to find out quirky little facts about you. It always made you smile when he brought up a menial piece of information that you told him in passing conversation weeks ago. He made you feel cared for, and important.

Marcus was completely and utterly smitten with you. He hadn’t been with anyone since his ex-wife, who had passed away two years ago. Getting over the heartbreak alongside his daughter wasn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. But he was getting there. And with you by his side, your company seemed to make things just that little bit easier. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

So it was your fifth date, and Marcus felt as though he was finally ready to get intimate with you. Both you and him had discussed sex, and he knew it was something you wanted, but you would always reassure him that there was absolutely no pressure and you were fine waiting until he was ready. Marcus Moreno was too good of a man to just let go for that reason.

It was Saturday night and you had decided to meet him at the small Italian restaurant located on the coastline. It was the most perfect, romantic destination for a date. Marcus was always punctual, arriving at least fifteen minutes early no matter the reason. But to your surprise, not this time. He was so nervous, knowing that tonight would be the night. He’d cut himself shaving, he’d drowned himself in cologne and he tried to put in contacts but they’d somehow slipped out of his eye and landed in the sink, all mushed up and ruined. So he was back to doting his thick rimmed glasses that you adored. He was only five minutes late, and you didn’t mind too much, already cracking into the bottle of red wine. His smile when his gaze locked onto you was enough to fill your body with fuzzy butterflies. He presented you with a bouquet of roses and tried to hide the blush that crossed his cheeks.

“Hi,” he said nervously. He looked down when you pressed a gentle kiss over his lips. “Wow, everything smells so good,” he acknowledged as he sat down opposite you. “What do you think you’ll order?”

“Maybe the pasta,” you returned, checking the menu. “What about you?”

“Well, I promised Missy I’d bring her a slice of pizza home, so…” Marcus admitted and you giggled. Hating your laugh, you brought your hands to your face and covered your mouth. Marcus noticed immediately and took your hands, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he cooed, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes. “You’re beautiful.”

You bit your lip and felt your cheeks flush under his sweet words. You didn’t know what it was -- perhaps the adrenaline of knowing what was to come after dinner, but his touch alone was enough to drive a bolt of anticipation through your core. You swallowed, losing your appetite for pasta and beginning to crave something else. He didn’t let go of your hands once, his fingers carefully tracing comforting circles into your skin as he gazed into your eyes and admired your beauty. 

“Marcus…” you whispered, pushing your thighs together as you felt arousal begin to pool between your legs.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on too, if the tent in his pants was anything to judge by. “Yes?” he answered almost immediately, hating the way the word left his lips. He prayed the desperation that dripped from his tongue wasn’t evident to you.

“I… we… could get dinner later, if you wanted.” you suggested.

Marcus knew exactly what you meant, but he hadn’t realised it would be happening so soon. Nervous but excited, he bit his lower lip and nodded his head, a twinkle of lust sparkling in his honey brown eyes. He paid the bill, just for the bottle of wine, and took your hand before leading you out the restaurant. 

During the drive back to his place, you were feeling pretty restless. As his dark eyes focused on the road ahead, you let your hand wander across his denim clad thigh and towards his crotch. Your fingers delicately danced along his bulge and you felt more than satisfied when you heard a dark string of curses leave his lips. You’d never heard Marcus be so vulgar in his life.

“Shit hermosa, you trying to make me crash?” he chuckled, his eyebrows furrowing together with concentration. He was throbbing, but he figured he’d be able to handle it, as long as you didn’t go inside his jeans. The blood rushed to the tip of his cock as you palmed him softly. You hummed at his question but opted not to give him an answer, or at least, not with words. Popping open the top button of his pants and then finding his zipper, you pulled it all the way down. “You can’t wait, huh?” he countered further, already trying to resist the urge to thrust upwards into your hand. 

Finding that he wasn’t wearing any underwear, you swallowed, and looked up at him with doe-like eyes. “Marcus…” you purred, wasting no time and pulling out his thick length. He was hot and heavy, and under the artificial amber lights that illuminated the front of the car, you gave his cock a few pumps. “I had no idea you were so big.” you praised with a nervous giggle. 

Marcus didn’t say a word. He hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Yeah, he’d used his own hand on plenty of occasions but it had never felt like this. He forgot how good it could feel.

The adrenaline was coursing through his veins as your thumb wiped up the precum that had beaded at the tip of his cock. 

“Your hand is cold, sweetheart.” Marcus murmured as you shimmied your fingers down his length to cradle his balls. As you squeezed them and played with them, you could feel him getting harder and harder.

“Do you prefer warmth?” you cooed quizzically. Marcus shuddered but remained silent, his eyes still fixated on the road. His patience surprised you, but he was a Heroic, after all. 

Clicking open your seatbelt, you shuffled down to your knees and crawled over the control panel in the car. Leaning over and finding a comfortable position, you placed your tongue flat against the slit and began to suck at his head. Marcus gripped down on the steering wheel as his eyes snapped shut, a heavy pant leaving his lips. His eyes must’ve been closed a little too long because the car swerved and you squealed his name. Thankfully it was late and the road was more or less empty.

“Tha- that could’ve been bad, baby,” Marcus gasped, his cock twitching in your mouth.

“Mhm.” you agreed as you bopped your head up and down his shaft.

He moved one hand from the wheel to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair as you continued to go down on him. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

“So- so fucking good. Oh f-fuck, I forgot how good this coul-could feel… princess,” He admitted and you smirked around his length. “Mm, I’m close.” 

After only a few more pumps of his cock, Marcus came in your mouth, his salty seed spurting across your tongue. His load was large and you couldn’t swallow it all, but as you pulled off him, and the milky coloured substance dripped down your chin, he couldn’t have looked more proud. He pulled over at some place and let you regain your balance as you crawled back up to the passenger seat and strapped yourself back in. 

“Th- thank you.” Marcus blushed, leaning over and wiping his cum from your lips, doing his best to clean you up.

“You don’t have to thank me Marcus,” you returned his smile and gave his thigh a little squeeze. Marcus tucked himself back in and zipped his pants up. You looked out the window at the bright yellow and red lights. “Marcus, where are we?”

Marcus grinned sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve worked up an appetite after that. We uh- we’re at McDonalds.”

Of course. Of course DILF dad Heroic Marcus Moreno would take you to McDonald’s drive thru after receiving road head. It just made sense. You burst into a fit of giggles and rest your head on his shoulder. He wrapped a strong arm around you and pressed a kiss into your forehead.

“You’re unbelievable,” you laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “You’re so- God… Marcus… I think I lo-”

You cut yourself off immediately, your heart sinking in your chest as you realised what you were about to say. Praying that Marcus hadn’t clicked on, you tore yourself from him and rolled down the car window, peering out to gaze at the illuminated menu on the wall. 

“What do you normally get?” you asked, unable to bring yourself to look at him.

Shit, it had only been five dates and you weren’t even sure if he was completely over his wife yet. But all of a sudden, everything made sense. You really were in love with him. Was it too soon? Of course, you’d known him forever, but there was no telling how he’d react to your confession. 

“Uh-- I like cheeseburgers…” Marcus replied. “And fries. And a cola. What about you?”

You closed your eyes and sunk back into the chair. It was okay. It was going to be okay. When you turned back to face him, Marcus’ eyes were already boring into you, admiring your beauty.

“I like chicken nuggets.”

Marcus grinned. “So does Missy.”

He continued down the drive thru and ordered a chicken McNugget sharebox. Parking in the isolated lot, he passed you your soft drink and pierced the straw into his own cola before setting out the box of chicken nuggets. 

You and Marcus sat in comfortable silence as you dipped your nuggets in the assortment of sauces. “I really like you,” Marcus confessed. “And Missy likes you too. Which is important to me. We’ve been friends forever and I just think we’re good… together. Shit. That wasn’t meant to rhyme. I--”

You laughed when you saw how adorably flustered Marcus got. “I like you too.” You admitted and Marcus nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Are you still up for coming back to my place tonight? Missy is with her abuela.” 

“Yes.” you replied and his grin only deepened.

“Okay, good.”

You finished the box of chicken nuggets and slouched back into the chair, rubbing your tummy. “That was so good,” you beamed. “I’m stuffed though. I need to lie down.”

Marcus felt his cheeks heat up as he turned his key and switched on the engine. “When we get home.” he promised, his cock already hardening again as he imagined you spread out on his bed with your legs open. All the things he could do to you…

Sure, you didn’t expect your fifth date to end up with road head and chicken nuggets, but it was perfect, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[vannahfanfics]

A Hero’s Heart

Category: Drama

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hanta Sero, Class 1-A

Hello, everybody! I am happy to present my piece for @plaintofamezine​! The zine turned out phenomenal, and I am grateful to have been a part of it!

Hanta sucked in a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth. The humidity of his breath fogged into water vapor as the minuscule droplets met the cool evening air streaming in through the opening of the spacious ten-floor garage. Beyond the ramp, cars bustled down the roads, the glow from their headlights refracting on the water particles suspended in the post-rainshower atmosphere. Their tires slicked on the soaked tar; shrill squeaks echoed through the city air as they braked suddenly for the bright red traffic light burning in the gloom. 

No one paid attention to the twenty-something pro hero perched on a sleek orange-and-black motorcycle at the entrance of the hospital parking garage. Perhaps they thought him a regular on patrol; many seedy types lurked in the shadows of the care center, drunkards and homeless turned away, loitering around after being discharged from the E.R. with nowhere to go. 

However, the bright red cooler strapped to Hanta’s back—no larger than a small box—told a different story. Biohazard, it read, in big, black letters. The more imaginative conspiracy theorists would wonder if Hanta was carrying a government bioweapon or a deadly bacterium. No, this wasn’t some spy thriller. However, Hanta’s mission could certainly be considered movie-worthy. 

Enclosed in that little cooler was the last desperate hope for a valiant, critically-injured hero—a carefully preserved, healthy human heart. Hanta carried upon his back the salvation for someone who’d sacrificed everything, and now lay on life support. As the seconds ticked by and the frozen heart thawed inside that box, Hanta pulled down the black visor over his face. Its sleek, shiny surface reflected the bright green glow of the traffic light. 

Thirty minutes—that was how long Hanta had to transport the heart. They were viable for six hours, but five hours of that time had been eaten up during the transport process from another hospital. Thirty minutes was the absolute threshold that the surgeons had given for a successful surgery. Because of the stakes, delivering the heart directly to the recipient hospital was too risky. Instead, the Hero Commission had derived a secret plan where the heart would be transported by Hanta—who would be one of a dozen couriers, though eleven were decoys. 

With a swift jerk of the throttle, his motorcycle roared to life. The tires squealed as they fought for traction over the water-slicked road, eventually triumphing to send Hanta zooming out into the night. He banked hard to turn onto the busy road. The taillights of the motorcycle bobbed like bright red butterflies as he sped towards his destination, weaving around the slower-moving cars. With rumors that the hero’s nemeses had intercepted communications and were planning an ambush, it was only a matter of time—and time was of the essence. 

Hanta glanced over his shoulder as the screeching of tires filled the air. A large moving van barreled out of a side street onto the main road, shouldering a smaller car out of the way. He narrowed his eyes as the tiny vehicle swerved and skidded on the slick road, knocking into a few other cars before coming to a jarring rest upon the median. Hanta, unfortunately, could not stop to help, but the Hero Commission had anticipated this kind of carnage. He saw Ingenium and his plethora of sidekicks out of the corner of his visor as they came speeding out of another side street. The assistants splintered off to help the potentially injured civilians, while Hanta’s old classmate gave hot pursuit to the moving van, the fires of his calf engines burning an electric blue against the gloom of the night and the yellow of the streetlamps. 

With a small wave to his comrade before returning his attention to the road, Hanta pulled hard on the throttle, zooming forward so quickly that his motorcycle briefly rose up on the back wheel. Hanta hunched over the bike as he concentrated on moving through traffic; he’d hate to cut his mission short by plowing into an unsuspecting SUV. Behind him, he could hear crunching metal and shrieking tires fading into the distance as Ingenium hashed it out with the would-be interferers. 

“Heh. Maybe this’ll be a cakewalk after all,” Hanta chuckled to himself as he merged onto the freeway. Above him, two helicopters rode low, their red-and-white lights nearly blending with the canvas of stars in the sky. If he was lucky, the other supporting heroes standing by in the choppers wouldn’t even need to get involved. 

Unfortunately, they were not that lucky. 

“What?!” he exclaimed as a tremendous crash erupted behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the moving van careening onto the on-ramp, shoving several cars aside. They went spinning onto the freeway, and cars began stacking like dominoes as they crashed and crunched into one another. “Damn it!” Hanta cursed and turned back around, shifting into third gear to try and coax more speed. One of the helicopters dove back to assist in the devastating pile-up developing behind them, while the other began to drift lower to the ground. 

“Man, these dumbasses should have sent out more decoys!” Hanta heard a rough voice grip over the buffeting of the helicopter blades only a few yards over his head. He glanced to his left just in time to see a maniacal grin split Dynamight’s masked face. “I bet the rest of this loser gang is already on its way here. Whatever; now diiiiiiiiie!” he yowled before jumping out of the helicopter. 

Before the blond could splat into the ground, he released powerful explosions from his gauntleted hands to rocket forward, smashing leg-first into the windshield of the moving van. The glass shattered easily under the assault of his iron-reinforced boots. The van’s driver slammed on the brakes at the sudden arrival of the bloodthirsty hero, weaving wildly with squealing tires to screech to a halt far behind Hanta. 

“Man, I hope that prediction doesn’t come true,” Hanta grumbled to himself. However, with the amount of flashing red-and-blue lights approaching the upcoming onramp to the freeway, he wasn’t that hopeful. He jerked to the left lane as a thin, catsuited form on another motorcycle came zooming up to pull up beside him. Creati flipped up her visor with a frown, her black hair whipping in her sweaty face.

“Sorry, Cellophane!” she screamed over the snapping wind. “They must have figured out we were decoys. I was sure that they wouldn’t expect the real one to take the freeway!” To free up her movement, she chucked her empty red biohazard box off her back; it went bouncing down the road only to crunch under the tires of three more moving vans that had surged up behind them. 

“I’ll try and buy some time!” she shouted again before clenching on the brake of her bike. Smoke billowed from the rubber as the bike was driven onto its front wheel—when he looked behind, she was swallowed up between the slim space between the two vans, only to appear on top of one a second later wielding a wicked-looking battery-powered saw. She slammed it down into the roof of the van, carving through it like butter and no doubt startling the villains inside. Sure enough, the van began swerving erratically and veered into the concrete barrier, where it stayed. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Hanta shrieked in alarm as rapid popping exploded around him. One of the villains was sitting in the passenger-side window of one of the vans, peppering at him with a machine gun. Hanta began to vigorously swerve back-and-forth, causing the bullets to pelt uselessly into the tar around him; unfortunately, it also severely decreased his speed, allowing the vehicles to gain on him. 

“Man, you guys are a heartless bunch, aren’t ya?” he jeered over his shoulder at the gun-wielding assailant. Before the villain could get another round of shots off on him, Hanta slammed on the brakes, coasting right underneath him and wedging himself in-between the two vans. 

“Upsie-daisie!” Hanta grunted, releasing the motorcycle’s grips to jerk up his arms. Tape shot from his elbows, sticking to the sides of the vans that were closing in to crush him between their steel surfaces. Hanta yanked on the tape to vault himself up into the air; the bike crunched between the trucks with a symphony of bright yellow sparks and keening shrieks as Hanta landed with one foot on either van. The bike stuttered and fell back, bouncing down the freeway behind them. 

“Ack!” Hanta gasped as his legs rapidly began to spread, the vans now veering in opposite directions. He pinwheeled his arms as he sank down into a split, only the heels of his feet supporting his weight. Muscles in his thighs and groin that he didn’t even know existed began to burn. “Holy cow, how do all those girls do it?” he whimpered with wobbling lips. As the villain leaned out of the window again, grinning with his finger on the trigger, Hanta gulped and looked around wildly for a quick exit. 

“Later!” he said with a salute before he stuck out his right arm and shot tape into the distance. It stuck to the towering restaurant sign hugging the side of the overpass, and Hanta was wrenched off of the small trucks just as the bullets began to spray. He crowed triumphantly as he swung down from the freeway, pumping his legs as the sidewalk approached so he could transition into a smooth run. Just as his feet hit the ground and he took off, the wristwatch that was secured on the outside of his hero suit began to beep. 

3:00, read the neon-green numbers on the black screen before continuing to count down the seconds. 

“All right, Hanta. Almost there,” he encouraged himself, controlling his breathing as he dashed full-speed down the sidewalk. He could see the white-rimmed roof of the other hospital peeking above the buildings in the distance. A platoon of cop cars surged into the vicinity, with uniformed officers and small-time heroes clearing civilians from the path. Now that their enemies knew that Hanta bore the heart, there was no point in wasting manpower on decoys; all efforts were now focused on getting that heart delivered safely. 

“Man, I miss the bike,” Hanta groaned as he jumped over a barricade that was being carried by two officers. “How does Ingenium do it, running like this all the time?” His leg muscles were already beginning to burn and his breaths becoming ragged, fogging the front of his visor. He flipped it up as he skirted through a tangle of stopped cars.

Just as Hanta was beginning to think that he would make it to the hospital unfettered, someone decided to fling a semi-truck at him. 

“Waaaaahh!” he yelled, narrowly swinging away using a nearby streetlamp. The semi-truck crashed into the street behind him, scattering the cops like marbles and pushing their squad cars down the road. Hanging on the streetlamp like a monkey, Hanta’s head swiveled to see a gargantuan mass trundling down the road. “Ugh, a guy with a strength-enhancement Quirk? Greaaaaaat,” he grumbled. 

He glanced down at the watch. He had barely a minute and a half remaining.

“Hand over the heart, shrimp!” the villain roared in a deep, guttural voice. Hanta scowled, watching the hulking villain stomp down the road so hard that fissures appeared in the tar. 

“‘Shrimp’? Who’re you calling ‘shrimp,’ you overgrown potato?” 

As expected, the villain did not appreciate that remark and charged Hanta like a bull. The lithe hero sprang away, using his tape to swing down the road between the buildings, while the uncoordinated giant crashed head-first into the glass front of a flower shop. The villain roared angrily behind Hanta, spitting roses and carnations and lilies along with thick globs of mucous. 

“Gross. I don’t think the flowers want that kind of water,” Hanta chuckled to himself, leaving the giant villain to the cops. 

Finally, the bright white light of the hospital front illuminated the street before him. Hanta swung down to break into another sprint, the box thumping against his back. The emergency room doctor, the cardiovascular surgeon, and the nurses were crowding the area keeping the ambulance bay door open for him, waving him over frantically. He looked down at his watch and breathed a small sigh of relief when he noticed he had a minute to spare. Surely, nothing bad enough could happen to eat up a whole minute, right? 

“Look out!” one of the nurses suddenly shrieked, pointing to his right. Hanta whipped around just in time to see a car speeding toward him. As the blinding headlights filled his vision, all he had time to do was wrench the box off his back, clutch it to his chest, jump, and tuck-and-roll into the oncoming car. He groaned with the jarring impact, even the marrow deep within his bones vibrating. He rolled over the top of the car and flopped off the back; his weakened body couldn’t keep clutching onto the cooler, so it dropped a few feet away from him. 

“Oh no…!” he gasped, looking up. The car screeched to a halt and the driver’s door flew open before the vehicle had even stopped moving. As the car crashed into the side of a building, the door was cleaved clean off, falling down and rocking back and forth like a big metal potato chip. Hanta gritted his teeth, tongue flooding with the acrid taste of iron from his busted lip, and started crawling toward the cooler. The villain’s boots crunched on the gravel as he marched towards the red box, cackling. 

Hanta’s expression morphed into one of crushed defeat as the criminal swooped down to pluck up the box. 

“Sorry, hero,” the masked man cruelly jeered. Hanta scowled, pushing himself up on his hands and knees—his arms quivering like jelly, struggling to hold his own weight. Snickering, the villain flipped open the white lid of the box, revealing the frosted heart within. Hanta’s eyes blew wide as the degenerate procured a dagger from within his cloak. “Do give my condolences to the family,” he sneered as he raised the knife above his head. 

“No! I won’t let you!” Hanta shouted, fury giving him a sudden burst of strength. He shot a chunk of tape at the villain, wrapping the knife up in his hand. The masked man growled and started shaking his tape-covered fist angrily, giving Hanta the few precious seconds he needed to lunge forward. He body-slammed the villain, sending the box careening into the air. Before the priceless organ could fall out and become damaged, Hanta used his tape to close the lid again and jerk it towards him. He held it tucked under one arm as he punched the man in the face, stunning him momentarily. 

The villain’s goonies decided now was a good time to jump out of the car. Hanta glanced at the watch again, where 0:37 glared bright green on the screen. That definitely wasn’t enough time for an all-out brawl, so he needed to act fast to clear the parking lot and hand the heart over to the medical team. He acted on the first idea his whirring brain landed on. 

“They probably won’t like this,” he chuckled breathily before chucking the red box high into the air. The doctors and nurses all yelled—some of them even releasing unflattering curses—as it sailed up in a dramatic arc. Hanta wrapped his tape around the thickest of the goons, who only blinked in shock as the hero used his wide body as an anchor while running around him in a circle. Ducking underneath swinging fists and flying projectiles and even a laser beam—where did that come from?!—Hanta snatched up the discarded car door and flung it. Using the momentum he had built up in his mad-dash around the tape-bound villain, he leaped forward and released the tape. He landed on the door, sliding across the parking lot like a big, sparking sled, and caught the red cooler as it dropped out of the sky. 

“Incoming! Get out the way!” he yelled to the medical professionals. With more frightened screams, they jumped to the side as Hanta rode the car door through the ambulance bay and into the emergency room. It came to a stop in front of a very unamused cleaning lady, who glared at the thick black skid marks on the white tile floor. Just as Hanta hopped off the door, the cardiovascular surgeon came charging in, red-faced and panting. Outside, Hanta could hear explosions and Dynamight cursing. 

“Hurry! Hurry! No time!” 

Hanta obediently let the surgeon snatch it out of his hands. With his white coat flapping behind him, he vanished into the adjacent surgery wing, a few nurses charging behind him. Hanta looked at his watch, smiling tiredly at the seventeen seconds remaining. Cutting it close, but still successful. 

“Whoa, man,” he sighed as exhaustion suddenly overtook him and he crumpled to his knees. He yanked off his helmet, his black, sweat-slicked hair sticking up in odd directions. As he laid down, enjoying the coldness of the floor, his eyes began to drift shut. “I’m jus’... gonna take a quick nap…” he grumbled to the staff gathering around him. 

“Sure thing, hero,” a nurse chuckled. “Take a rest. You sure have earned it.” 

But Hanta was already dozing off, a drowsy look gracing his face. When he woke up, he’d have to check and see how the surgery went. For now… Man, he was tired. Saving lives sure was exhausting work, but Hanta wouldn’t trade it for anything—because those grateful smiles seared into the darkness of his fading vision were his heart.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 7: Simon Furman and His Lack of a Relationship with the Singular They

The Lost Light is still being attacked by Ammonites, like it has been for the last few issues. Hound’s taken over as acting field commander and is calling all the shots. Chromedome uses his stupid beefy arms to punch things. Trailcutter is screaming. Swerve’s got his My First Blaster™ strapped to the top of his alt, and saves Crosscut.

Crosscut is our toy tie-in character for this issue. He’s a senator, and drafts play scripts. Arguably one of the more interesting tie-in guys, at least in theory. In practice, all he’s doing is forgetting Swerve’s name, which isn’t going to help the guy with his through-the-floor self esteem.

Crosscut points out that Swerve’s communicator is flashing, and while he’s checking his voicemail, all the Ammonites seemingly vanish… at least, until the gang realizes that they’re instead heading for Metroplex.

Inside, it would appear that the Rod Pod Squad aren’t actually dead, though their ride is probably toast. Before everything went to hell, a wall slammed down from the ceiling, protecting everyone from being utterly destroyed. Skids has figured out what all the arrow graffiti is about, earning himself a BOMP from Getaway. Looks like the internal structure of Metroplex has been shifting, and that’s why they got the runaround last issue. Also, Whirl’s gone missing, but we don’t have time to worry about that, because Swerve just called back with some bad news: the admium flakes they saw earlier mean that Metroplex has an alchemical virus.

Don’t you look at me like that, I’m getting to the explanation.

Alchemical viruses turn the metal of the body into admium, a rare, incredibly soft metal that will break down very easily and also kill you. It’s pretty bad to have. Also, contagious. Fellas better get outta there, posthaste.

The Ammonites are also storming Metroplex, so that’s an additional issue. God, it just never stops, does it?

Over in the Dead Universe-

Is

Is that a fortress of evil in the shape of Nova Prime’s head?

Is that a goddamned fortress-

Anyway, the center of Nova Prime’s universe is Kup, who was the guy who got oh-so-dramatically revealed at the end of the last issue. Unfortunately, Orion Pax also considers Kup to be very near and dear to his heart, and the whole “being turned into a space bridge” thing is going to be an issue.

This is the weirdest love triangle I’ve ever seen.

How the hell did Kup even get here? Well, in order to know that, you’ve have to had read Infestation, the bullshit zombie crossover comic miniseries that ran in 2011.

But I’m not going to do that.

Because I don’t want to.

After a bit of showboating, Nova Prime orders Nightbeat to take Team -Imus to their cell.

Over on Cybertron, Shockwave is getting real sick of Galvatron’s shit, but Galvatron is too busy posing dramatically to notice. Waspinator, Metalhawk, and Dreadwing float in the air. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but I’m sure it’s important. Jhiaxus shows up with a gaggle of goons, one of which seems to have forgotten his face in the jar by the door.

Galvatron gets shamed for tearing Megatron in half, since that sort of broke the space bridge in his torso, but he’s too busy being classist to care. Waspinator floats in the background. What are you doing back there, pal?

Shockwave orders Waspinator to carry Megatron to his quarters, but Galvatron’s decided that he’s going to be an asshole about everything today, even when he’s being helpful.

…Okay, Boomer.

Waspinator still ends up hauling Megatron’s ass away, and Shockwave and Jhiaxus have a little chat.

Back in the dead universe, Team -Imus are in their cell, as Nightbeat double-checks the locks or some shit, I dunno. They’re gonna get their sparks ripped out later in the day, so that the space bridge Kup’s got running in his torso finally has enough juice to actually friggin’ work.

Then Rodimus flashes his mystery hand at Nightbeat and makes him fall down. In order for the whole brainwashing thing to work, Nightbeat’s true nature had to be suppressed; however, whenever Rodimus shows off his mystery hand, it makes his brain kickstart back on, messing up the brainwashing.

Well, you know what, Cyclonus? That’s not my fucking fault. Blame Roberts and Barber. I certainly do.

ORION PLEASE.

We finally get a look at what Rodimus’ hand mystery is, and if you read Eugenesis, you might know where this is going. It would seem Nightbeat has not- which is for the best, really, given what happens to him in it- but he’s still a pretty smart cookie and can suss it out through the power of deductive reasoning. Here’s what he’s working with:

After a moment’s deliberation, he asks Rodimus, who he knows to be the captain of a ship, how many folks are riding around in the space yacht. Rodimus tells him 190, and shows off that he’s got his lipgloss on, and it would seem that Nightbeat’s a free man again. He lets everyone out of the cell, and they gear up to go pick up Kup. Orion Pax is confused as to what the hell just happened here, and Rodimus promises to explain why he’s carved a division problem into his palm once they aren’t in immediate danger.

Back on Cybertron, Galvatron and Waspinator are dragging Megatron’s halves towards Shockwave’s quarters, when Bumblebee pops out of nowhere with a gun and a mouth full of swears. He’s here for Megatron, and he’s not taking “no” for an answer. Galvatron thinks that this is super fucking funny, and tosses Megatron like an empty soda can into the wall so he can squash a bug.

It looks pretty grim for ol’ Bumblebee, but suddenly Galvatron realizes he left the oven on that Megatron’s gone missing.

Oh, there he is!

Megatron blasts Galvatron in the torso, then- in a surprisingly polite manner, at least for him- tells Bumblebee to grab his legs so they can get out of here. As the two of them traverse the burned-out husk that is Cybertron, Megatron decides to be a complete bastard, as he smiles at the idea of Starscream suffering. Like, dude, I know he kept you in weird hamster ball jail and spouted soliloquies in your general direction every single day you were there, but folks are dying right now.

Speaking of Starscream, he’s having a moment, as he sits on his knees and stares at the sky in abject horror while the world burns around him. Scoop comes by to yell at him for being a harbinger of death, and generally being a less than stellar leader, and Starscream halfway calls himself a dumpster fire.

Back inside Metroplex, the Rod Pod Squad are fortifying their defenses against the Ammonites, even though they really need to be getting the hell out of there before they get turned into talcum powder through the power of alchemy. Whirl shows back up, the Ammonite hanger-on in his grasp, and we get the skinny on why the hell the Ammonites are involved with this whole debacle anyway.

The answer is Shockwave.

The answer is always Shockwave.

Then the little dude explodes. It’s fine, they do that sometimes.

Before he went kablooey, little dude uttered the phrase, “if the dead are not enough.” We’ll get to what all that’s about later. Right now there are far more important things going on.

LIKE MOTHERFUCKING LADY ROBOTS.

But why is this such a big deal? Why is it that non-male coded robots who aren’t Arcee haven’t been seen up until this point? What’s up with that, huh?

Well, in order to understand IDW’s complicated relationship with gender, we’re going to have to do some digging into the history of Transformers as a franchise.

We’re going to have to talk about Simon Furman.

We're going to have to talk about Prime's Rib.

And we’re going to have to talk about Spotlight: Arcee.

Simon Furman wrote a lot of Transformers. You cannot get away from Simon Furman, because the man is so ingrained in the franchise. He was there for Marvel UK, he was there for the back half of Marvel US, he wrote for several other publication runs of Transformers, he worked on the Earth Wars mobile game-

-and, of course, IDW publishing.

Because Furman is so very well established and known in the industry, he gets the benefit of not being questioned on a lot of the calls he makes.

Which is a problem, because the man is a massive misogynist.

In 1989, Marvel UK #234 came out, containing the story entitled “Prime’s Rib!” in which the Autobots built Arcee in order to appease a group of strawmen feminists. Of course, one female Transformer isn’t enough for them, and they yell at poor Optimus Prime for trying his best. This is the point where Hot Rod is used as a writer avatar to try to smooth things over with the reader, because you see, the Transformers don’t even know what sexual dimorphism and gender identity even is, so of course they wouldn’t have female members of their race! Jazz is used for a breast joke. Arcee acts like a massive, stereotypical bitch the whole time, despite not having been written like that at all in the other issues. It’s a bad comic with hideous ideology leaking out of it, and I'm halfway sorry I read it, so I’ll just give you the essence of this nightmare.

Oh, those big, mean, scary feminists are bullying the robots for living their lives, huh Furman? Life is just so goddamned unfair when a woman exists in your fucking line of sight.

Furman has gone on record saying that he doesn’t see the point in including the concept of gender in a race of non-sexually reproducing robots. He sees them as “genderless.” Which, if that statement existed in a vacuum, I could perhaps see where he’s coming from.

But Simon Furman does not exist in a vacuum. He exists in a world where sexism exists, something that he’s willingly participated in.

Let me back up that little tidbit with a bit of a disclaimer: I’m not in any way an expert on gender. I didn’t study it in school, I’ve not read an obscene amount of pieces on the topic. I’m not even sure about it on a personal level.

Maybe some of y’all have noticed the whole other set of pronouns I slapped into the bio in the last month or so. It doesn’t really matter, 90% of people don’t read the FAQ/About, I know that, and then 95% of those people only read it once, and this has been a relatively new self-revelation.

BUT ANYWAY.

Let’s be… fair about this. 1989 was a while ago, a lot of research on the concept of gender has taken place, maybe he’s ch-

Oh, what’s that?

Misogyny?

Transphobia?

Transmisogyny?

Treating women as an aberration being forced on Transformers as a whole?

And the writing is clunky and overstuffed?

Well, that’s just fucking fantastic, Furman, thanks so much.

This was in 2008. Because Furman established that female Transformers weren’t something natural, but rather made, and forcibly at that, and nobody fucking smacked his little hands away from this terrible idea, AND nobody tried to fix it for years, there was a lack of gender diversity within IDW until 2014, with the release of Dark Cybertron Chapter 7. Because we waited six years to fix this nightmare, things couldn’t be done quite the way that Roberts had been hoping, in that he intended for our female robots to not have the whole… fembot build happening. IDW wanted them immediately clockable, because this was very clearly a problem that needed rectifying.

So, in short: because of boys’ club mentality and a lack of understanding of what gender means or why it’s important for roughly 50% of the world’s population to have representation in media, Nautica and Chromia are here now.

And despite the convoluted road they had to take, I love them very much.

[bellalikeskitties]

big trouble ☾

you’d known, intellectually, that your heroic nemesis was a teenager, but it didn’t really sink in until the day their school called because your number was the only one on their emergency contact list 

pairing: lee jeno x reader

word count: 1.8k+

genre: superpower au, flufffff ???? highschool jeno, older reader, kinda angsty

warning/s: some nasty fighting kinda? but still fighting

It was a beautiful day. No clouds in the sky and the wind was blowing comfortably. Men, women, and children roamed the streets, enjoying this good day. 

You laugh. "Yes, what a perfect day. A perfect day to stir trouble!". You swing your coat back and grab the guns from behind you. The citizens scream and scramble about. "Relax! Relax! I'm not going to hurt anyone!". They stop running and a bright grin appears on your face. You cock your gun to one man and shoot him effortlessly. The screams re-emerge and you mock them. "Well, not yet at least".

The sound of your heels echo the street and you shoot through the buildings around you. You know you look like a madman right now, exactly what you wanted. As you continue your rampage, you watch as a woman tries to protect her child from the harm. You stifle a giggle. "That's dumb, you can't protect everyone". You point your gun and shoot. 

"No, I believe you can". A man blocks your bullet and you click your tongue. "Hi Jeno, nice day isn't it?". You greet and he narrows his eyes at you. "Yes, it was a nice day until you came around". He swings his arm at you and you jump back, creating some distance. 

He looks back at the woman you tried to shoot. "Go, I'll deal with this". She nods and runs away from the scene. You groan at him. "God, Jeno. You actually suck y'know! I could say the same to you. I was having the time of my life before you came. You and your obnoxious hardening power or whatever".

He watches you swing your gun around your fingers. "You've wreaked havoc to this city for too long, (y/n). This is the day I stop you". He runs towards you and you brace yourself. he lifts his leg and you can see it harden. Moving under him, you shoot his thigh and it effectively blocked. 

'Oh, well. I guess I'll take the hit and leave'. You close your eyes and his leg connects with the side of your neck, your body was thrown to the side. He huffs, thinking about how easy that was. "I mean how are you going to stop me, kid? Kill me?". You lift yourself and he watches your neck repair itself. "Jeno-ah, you're smarter than that. I think. What do high school kids even learn about these days?". You taunt him and it works. 

"Don't call me that, we aren't friends". You grab something from behind you and pull on its reigns. "I didn't know you'd be here, Jeno. I thought you had class! I swear! I just wanted to have some fun". You toss the small container in front of him. "I've had my fill, and you got your hit. I guess that's all for today". His eyes widen and quickly rushes to grab you, but smoke fills his vision and you disappear.

He grits his teeth and clenches his hands when he sees a piece of paper with numbers in place of your body. 'Call me! 127 *** ***!'. He picks it up and walks away. 

A few days later, in a coffee shop, you sip on hot tea. No one recognizes you, it's like they forgot the face of the person who terrorized their city. Because the person who shot down people like it was nothing, wouldn't dare to settle in a busy shop in the middle of the day. 

"Here's your order, miss!". The server sets a fresh piece of pie on your table and you thank her warmly. She shuffles and hides her face with the tray she was holding. "Miss, I'm sorry if I intrude but, are you perhaps an actor or celebrity? You look very familiar". She blushes and you shake your hand. "You must have mistaken me for someone else. I'm nothing of the sort". Her shoulders slump in embarrassment. "Oh, I apologize then". You watch her walk away and mutter something about 'the pretty customer'. 

It wasn't your fault that practically no one knows your face. It's better that way, you still get to shop for groceries and relax like this. You threatened this city, yes, but you live in this city too. A deep sigh frees itself and you're back to your drink and peaceful afternoon. 

But something rings. Your phone displays an unknown number. Brows furrowing, you answer the call. "Hello? Who is this?". The person sighs happily, "Hello! Sorry for the sudden call, Miss (y/n). I'm Miss Kang from high school. I'm calling because Jeno got into a fight at school. We were wondering if you could come to pick him up?". You're confused, wait no, extremely confused. Why did Jeno's school call you? How did they get your number? And Jeno got into a fight? 

"I understand. I'll be there in a few. Thank you, Miss Kang". You know well that this could be a trap, some person got your number just to prank you. You could seriously be in trouble if you were caught. But since this was about your nemesis, who's in high school, you guessed the gamble would be worth the million questions in your head right now.

"Miss (y/n)! I'm so glad you're here!". A lady, you presume to be Miss Kang approaches you as soon as you enter the office. Jeno is in the corner, eyes wide as he sees you. "Yes, could you explain what happened to Jeno?". You shake hands with her and sit beside Jeno, his face still surprised. "Well, today Jeno got into a fistfight with one of the students about something trivial". He slams his hand on the table. "It was not trivial!". You narrow your eyes at him and he slowly moves his hands off the table. Miss Kang coughs, "Anyways, that student is now in the hospital. Jeno used his powers in an inappropriate way inside the school premises. That's grounds for expulsion but we've reduced it to a suspension. Jeno's a model student, we still don't understand why he did that. I believe he's well-behaved at home as well, Miss (y/n)?". 

You smile affectionately. "Yes, Jeno's very good at home. He'll reflect on his actions during the suspension. Do we need to pay any expenses for the boy's hospitalization?". Jeno looks at you timidly and whines. "Noona". You really hold yourself back. He looked just like a kid. Miss Kang checked the papers. "Yes, it seems so. Please come with me for a while, Miss (y/n)". You nod. "Jeno-ah, go wait outside. I'll be there soon".

Jeno frowns. You looked different today, just like any person. You could pass as one of those college students Jeno sees on his way to school. He doesn't even know why you're here. After the teachers broke the fight, they confiscated his belongings and locked him up in the office. Then you came. He didn't know why he didn't warn Miss Kang about the immortal freak she just invited or why he even called her noona. "Ugh". He buries his head in his arms and thinks. 

You pass your black card to the older woman and she eyes you suspiciously. "Are you a celebrity or something, Miss (y/n)?". You chuckle, that's the second time today. "Thank you for the comment Miss Kang, but I'm not. By the way, how did you get my number?". She apologizes and asks you to sign something, "It was Jeno's emergency number and had the contact '(y/n) noona'. We guessed it was his older sister so we called it". Eyes wide, you stop mid-sign. He had you as his emergency number? 

"It must have been hard after your parents passed, you and your brother must have suffered". She comments and you wonder. So his parents were dead too. "Surprisingly, Jeno never mentioned you. I've never seen you during ceremonies either. You must be busy Miss (y/n)". You nod. Busy destroying the lives of people, that is. "That'll be all, Thank you so much for coming". She shakes your hand again and you nod. 

No parents, no family. What else were you going to find out about your nemesis? You exit the office and Jeno sits up quickly. An awkward silence fills the room and you sigh. "C'mon, I'll take you home". He pouts a bit and follows you to the parking lot. 

Students watch you and a bruised Jeno walk and whisper among themselves. You just smile and nod. While Jeno glares at everyone who meets your eyes. You enter the lot and press your keys and your car alarms, "Where do you live?". His mouth gapes. "That's a very expensive car". You look at him confused and open the doors to your very expensive car. "Where do you live, Jeno?". This time you say it in a deeper tone and he looks away. He mumbles something and your eye twitches. "What?". A sigh and he meets his eyes with yours. "I don't have a home". 

That's a new one, no home either then. "I've been staying at friends' houses for a while now, but I don't think they'd let me stay over now. It's fine. I appreciate your help. You can leave now, I'll just--". You can see the helplessness in his eyes and you emphasize with him. "Get in the car". He looks surprised, "What? I just said I had nowhere to go!".

You slam the car door and grab his arm. "Yes, I heard. Get in the car. You're staying at my place for now". You knew this is weird. Letting your nemesis stay over, but he's just a child. You couldn't leave him like this. You start your car and strap both you and him in. The drive is silent, but you glance him now and then. 

"What'd you fight about?". He finally looks over at you and mumbles. "An immortal supervillain". Your car almost swerves into the next lane but you keep your hands stable. He laughs a little, "He said the supervillain was weak and stupid. That the heroes could destroy her any moment but it'd be an easy kill so they let her off. He said she was just a minor villain". 

You choke on your spit. "Okay, that's enough. Stop dissing me". He suddenly shifts in his seat. "That isn't true though! You're strong! And really smart! And I know other heroes can't defeat you because they don't even know how to!". Your eyes widen but remain focused on the road. He blushes and turns away from you. "Ah, he is a child". "Noona aren't you just two years older than me?". You both laugh. 

It felt nice. You felt comfortable and you know he did too. "Thanks, Jeno. Although, you didn't really need to beat him to a pulp. Like, you don't even look close to what he looks now". He whines and you laugh again. Silence takes over the car, but now it isn't heavy. You know taking him in might affect you and your day job, but you're ready for the risk. 

"So, emergency contact huh?".

"Ah, noona!".

[bigherosixfeels]

The Right Path - Chapter 1: Starting Fresh

Fandom: Big Hero 6: The Series

Rating: K+ (dealing with death)

Characters: Tadashi Hamada, Hiro Hamada, Gogo, Wasabi, Honey Lemon, Fred, Aunt Cass and Professor Granville

Word Count: 5,309

Summary: Tadashi works up the courage to go back to SFIT.

[AO3] [Wattpad]

---

Getting enough sleep to stay awake throughout the day and actually feeling well rested are two completely separate things. Despite having a difficult time getting to sleep, Tadashi knew he could function with the amount of rest he got. Unfortunately, he woke up feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. The second his eyes fluttered open, his nerves attempted to get the better of him.

He felt like a freshman again. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first day at SFIT. Of course, he’d much rather experience his first-day jitters again than his current rising anxieties that piled up with each unsettling thought that came to mind.

He hasn’t been on campus since the night of the showcase. The last time he was there, Hiro was alive. He had gotten his acceptance letter. This was supposed to be his first day of college. He should be here. Hiro should be the one that’s nervous and Tadashi should be the one to help him feel relaxed. Today was supposed to be the day that him and their friends would show Hiro around to make sure he knew where all his classes were. Today was meant to be such a great day.

Tadashi sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. Not too long after he began attending SFIT, it became a second home to him. He met his friends who he loved dearly. He spent countless hours in the nerd lab or his own private lab. For the most part, he got along great with his professors.

Memories of Callaghan plagued his mind. His mentor. His favorite teacher. Someone he not only idolized, but respected and learned a lot from. He still couldn’t get his head wrapped around that a man he looked up to could be capable of causing so much destruction and chaos. Even knowing why his former professor went to great lengths to do what he nearly succeeded in doing, it wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. Tadashi’s heart ached as he remembered simpler times where he could go to him for advice on projects. He trusted him. He mourned him when he thought he perished with Hiro.

A shudder traveled down his spine. Thinking of Callaghan only resulted in nausea forming in the pit of his stomach. Taking in a deep breath, Tadashi attempted to calm his boiling blood. At least he wouldn’t ever see him at SFIT again. Someone else would be taking his place as the new Dean of Students. Whoever that would be, it didn’t matter. Tadashi had no intentions of getting close to them. He highly doubted that they would have some traumatic past that would eventually lead to a life of villainy, but nonetheless his trust wore thin.

While getting dressed, the robotics major began to debate if going to school was actually a good idea. It would give him the normal routine he needed, but the campus was now a painful reminder of what he was still going through. Why surround himself in an environment he’d have a difficult time healing in?

Sitting down on his neatly made bed, Tadashi reached for his phone. He fumbled it in his hands, wondering if he should text his friends to tell him he might not go. They’d understand why it’s so hard. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to message them. There was still a part of him that was optimistic about going. If he could get through the first day back, it would only get easier from there. He was proud to be a student.

Instead, he pressed the photo gallery app. Immediately, he was greeted by his most recent photos which were ones of him and the gang. All of which were ones that Honey Lemon had taken and sent to him and the others. Some of which included Baymax.

He gulped as he scrolled upwards. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to stumble upon a particular photograph that Tadashi would always treasure. The group selfie they took before Hiro presented his microbots. The last picture Hiro was ever in. His precious, tooth-gapped smile showing both nervousness and excitement. None of them could have been prepared for what happened later that evening.

Tadashi kept scrolling. His photo gallery consisted mainly of pictures of his family; Hiro respectively. Over the years, he and Aunt Cass always made sure to capture memories through photos and videos of Hiro. Whether it be his greatest achievements or candid moments, they always had a camera ready.

His scrolling led him to stumbling upon a fun memory. Around two years ago, Hiro expressed his desire to learn how to ride a bicycle. In truth, this had been because he was being teased at school about not knowing how. Bullies apparently thought it was hilarious that he could do physics equations in his head, but couldn’t ride a bike. Admittedly, Hiro felt no need to learn at first. Between Tadashi and Aunt Cass being able to give his rides, taking a trolley or walking, riding a bike was never a priority. However, word got around Hiro’s high school that he couldn’t.

With the taunting going on for weeks without any signs of stopping, the young genius couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to learn.

What started off as wanting to stop the ridiculous bullying eventually became Hiro wanting to learn for himself. Though there were many falls and injuries which led to him wanting to quit, he never stopped trying.

It wasn’t long before Hiro felt ready to take the training wheels off. Confident that he could ride a bike the way other kids could, they all drove to a nearby park. Once they found a parking spot and got out of the car, Aunt Cass starting filming the event on her phone.

Tadashi pressed the play button. The video started out with them all by Cass’ truck. Tadashi was unloading the bicycle from the back and Hiro was covering his face from the camera.

“Aunt Cass, do you have to film this?” Hiro asked. Tadashi cracked a sad smile hearing his brother’s voice. He was twelve at the time and his voice was starting to change.

Cass giggled. “Of course I do, sweetie! This is a big day for you!”

Their aunt continued to make commentary as her nephews walked side by side. Hiro guided his bike steadily along the path. When they had made it far down enough, Hiro positioned the bike in the direction he was going to pedal.

Carefully, the preteen sat on his bike. Hiro made sure his helmet was fastened tightly to his head. As he brought his feet to the pedals, Tadashi placed his hands on Hiro’s shoulders. Cass zoomed in on elder brother’s proud smile.

“Okay, Hiro. I’m gonna let you go now. Ready?”

When the camera zoomed back out, Tadashi began a running start for Hiro. He hadn’t given Hiro the chance to answer back, causing him to tense up. His eyes grew wider by the second when the reality set in that Tadashi would be letting go soon.

“No no no, Tadashi wait!” he yelled.

The siblings were right in front of the camera. Although Hiro grew more afraid, Tadashi gently let go of him. “Don’t be scared, little brother! Just pedal harder! You can do it!”

Cass angled her phone directly at her younger nephew. There were no signs of Hiro swerving. He was riding his bike with ease, smoothly pedaling down the pathway. Aunt Cass was cheering him on.

As Tadashi could hear his own words of encouragement, he paused the video. He didn’t need to watch the rest. He knew Hiro accomplished his goal as he always did.

Smiling fondly, Tadashi brushed his thumb against the image of Hiro successfully riding his bicycle. Despite the fear he initially had, Hiro kept going. Perhaps this was something Tadashi needed to be reminded of. He still had his reservations about going back to school, but if he didn’t go today, would he ever go back?

“Well, Hiro...today would have been your first day of nerd school.” Tadashi’s face fell into a frown. “Guess I’m gonna have to go for both of us.”

Releasing a sharp exhale, Tadashi stood up from his bed. He reached for his satchel, putting his phone away and resting the strap on his shoulder. Once entering what used to be Hiro’s side of the bedroom, he turned to close the sliding door. While doing so, he didn’t realize that his thumb was in a bad spot. Before he could move it out of the way, it was mildly crushed between the door and the wall.

“Ow!” He hissed, shaking his thumb in an attempt to relieve the wavering pain.

Observing his pulsating thumb, it occurred to Tadashi that by now, his creation would have already inflated out of its charging station from saying his activation phrase. The young adult spared a woeful glance down at the carrier. He thought back to that fateful day where he had to part ways with Baymax. The robot would be floating aimlessly in the realm of that portal for eternity.

Shaking his head at the thought, Tadashi forced himself to walk away. As he headed for the stairs, his eyes wandered over to something on Hiro’s side of the room.

On Hiro’s desk lied Megabot. The bot that he had created for the sole purpose of winning illegal bot-fights. A robot that Tadashi once despised since its potential wasn’t being put to good use. The robot that inspired Hiro to come up with his microbots.

Although he didn’t like Megabot’s purpose, the fighter bot now held a special place in Tadashi’s heart. It was Hiro’s creation. Something that made his brother happy despite it also causing trouble for him. Tadashi never thought he’d like seeing the yellow smiley face Hiro drew on it so much.

Tadashi reached out, grabbing Megabot. He smiled back at the bot and stashed it inside his bag.

---

As usual, the cafe was buzzing with customers. Multiple conversations were going on at once, but the only voice that caught Tadashi’s attention was the news anchor on TV. Ever since the defeat of Callaghan, reports were flooding in throughout the entire city. Whether on television or in newspapers, him and his friends had prevented San Fransokyo from being destroyed. Thankfully, their identities remained a secret which was good considering that being superheroes was a one-time thing.  

It didn’t take long for Tadashi to spot his group of friends. Gogo, Wasabi, and Honey Lemon were sipping on their beverages while Fred ate what he appropriately called ‘victory pancakes’. When approaching the table, Tadashi greeted them with a hello that he hoped didn’t sound too tiresome.

Upon seeing their best friend, the group simultaneously smiled up at him. They were starting to worry that Tadashi may have decided to back out on attending school today. Not that they could blame him, but seeing that he was going to at least try was assuring.

“Tadashi!” Honey exclaimed.

Wasabi was the first to get up from his seat. He gave Tadashi a soft pat on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s not be late.”

His friends started to get up from the table. With all five of them ready to leave, they made their way to exit the cafe. Tadashi was about to follow them, but he heard footsteps approaching in his direction. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his aunt walking towards him with a brown paper bag. “Hey, sweetie. I made you a lunch.” She handed the lunch bag to her nephew. Right as he was about to take it from her, she pulled it back. “Should I have packed your lunch? You probably want to buy your own in the cafeteria.” She indecisively kept handing him the bag, only to bring it back to her. “Are bagged lunches still cool?”

Tadashi smiled at her. Cass had always been such a thoughtful guardian. She knew just as well as his friends that going to school today wouldn’t be easy.

“Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” Cass told him. Smiling back at him, she reached up to embrace Tadashi as tightly as he could. “You have a great day, okay?”

Chuckling, Tadashi hugged her back. The longer the hug went, the tighter her hold seemed to get. Over the years, he had gotten used to her being squeezed by her bone-crushing embraces. Right now wasn’t the time for one. He patted her back in hopes she’d get the hint to release him. “A-Aunt Cass,” his voice strained. “I gotta go.”

Pulling away from the hug, Cass handed Tadashi the lunch she made him, finally allowing him to take it. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Tadashi waved at her before turning around. The others had been waiting for him to catch up, now leaving the cafe one by one. A couple steps forward and he paused. Glancing back over at his aunt, he thought about something that she had started doing recently. Now seemed as good a time as any to return the gesture.

Rushing back over to her, Tadashi initiated the hug this time. “Last hug,” he told her.

Not expecting Tadashi to turn back, Cass jumped. However, when she realized what this hug was all about, she immediately returned it. The ‘last hug’ was something she decided to do not too long after Hiro’s passing. She was more than aware that anything could happen to the people she loved most at any moment. Because of that, she wanted to make sure that any time her and Tadashi parted ways would be a hug. That if anything happened to either of them, their last moment spent together was a happy one.

“I’m so proud of you,” she gushed. She pulled away slightly from the hug, resting her hand lightly on Tadashi’s jawline. “And I know Hiro would be happy for you too.”

His aunts’ kind words brought a warm smile to his face. Though there were many moments where Cass felt unqualified to be a guardian, she always seemed to know what to say when support was most needed.

“Thanks, Aunt Cass.”

---

He wished it had taken longer to get to school. The second the all too familiar campus came into view, Tadashi looked away. A part of him regretted not riding his moped. He could have taken the long way and stayed in the student parking lot until he needed to go to his first class. Ultimately, he knew if he had driven to SFIT on his own terms, there would have been a higher chance of him turning back. Besides, with his mind in as many places as it has been, driving probably wasn’t the best idea.

The endless support and encouragement his friends were giving him was something he admittedly knew he needed. They all needed one another after what they’ve been through. They may not have known Hiro for very long, but they all considered him a friend. They were looking forward to having him attend college and to get to know him better. All of them were devastated when they heard what happened to him. All of them were shocked when they saw that the man behind the mask was Professor Callaghan. All of them were saddened by the loss of Baymax.

All the experiences brought them closer together. While Tadashi was suffering the most out of the hardships, they were all giving their best efforts with pushing forward.

Standing in front of the main entrance of the school, everyone gave Tadashi a moment to take it in. He absentmindedly fiddled the strap of his satchel, looking away from the structure with a frown plastered on his face. As much as it hurt to think about, he couldn’t help, but imagine Hiro yanking his arm forward. To explore the campus and everything it had to offer.

He was pulled out his thoughts when he felt the gentle touch of Honey’s hand against his shoulder. “Are you nervous, Tadashi?” She studied his facial expression, trying to gauge where his emotions were at.

Tadashi responded with a sigh. “I guess so,” he shrugged.

“Hey, I know what will cheer you up,” Fred spoke up. “Let’s walk around the quad for a bit. I bet a lot of people are there with their insane projects!” Wasabi smiled at the idea. “We do have time before our first classes. Might as well enjoy ourselves before we meet the new dean. I’ve heard that she’s a hard case.” He emphasized that last part between his teeth, covering the side of his mouth with his hand in the event that this new professor was somehow behind him.

“It’s up to you,” Gogo chimed in.

Tadashi cracked a small smile, appreciative that his friends were giving their best efforts to make him more comfortable. Quite frankly, he had no clue how he’d manage if they weren’t here.

For many reasons, the quad sounded like a great option. It was a great place to go on campus to get fresh air, study or test out projects. There would definitely be a lot of familiar faces that he hasn’t seen in a while. And to his personal delight, they’d be far away from the exposition hall.

“Sounds good.” Tadashi tried to sound as enthusiastic as he could. In reality, it probably sounded more forced than he intended, but no one commented on it.

Without another word, the group of five went up the stairs, hopeful that going to the quad was exactly what they needed to start off the semester right.

---

It wasn’t.

Nothing went wrong. There were, in fact, fellow classmates in the quad. Some were sitting on blankets and catching up with their friends. Others were testing out their projects. It was refreshing to see what everyone else was up to, bringing sparkles to Tadashi’s eyes.

However, the entire time the group was there, the mood amongst everyone shifted. Everyone noticed the presence of the gang, Tadashi in particular. Fred had always described Tadashi as an SFIT legend to which the robotics major would humbly laugh off. Despite not wanting to admit it, the mascot had a point. Most, if not everyone, knew Tadashi. Those who didn’t have a class with him at least knew his name.

If they didn’t know who he was before, everyone on campus knew now due to the showcase incident. This resulted in people whispering to their friends the second they saw Tadashi. Some spared pitiful glances his way, much to his displeasure. No one said a word. It seemed like they were all trying to figure out how he was and didn’t want to ask out of fear of upsetting him.

Uneasiness built up in his gut. The others caught on to his discomfort, asking if he wanted to go to the cafeteria instead. He simply shook his head, not wanting to be around a large group of people until his first class.

The only decent place to go was the Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab. Wasabi suggested to spend time in the nerd lab, but after the disappointing visit to the quad, Tadashi asked if they could walk around the halls.

His friends happily obliged, trying to keep things casual. They started talking about their schedules, figuring out if they’d be in any classes together. Gogo groaned due to finding out her first class would be Applied Particle Physics, but at least she’d have Honey Lemon to talk to.

“What’s your first class, Tadashi?” Fred asked. When he didn’t get a response, he looked over his shoulder.

Not too far away, Tadashi had stopped walking with the others. Currently, he faced the door leading to his personal lab. He wanted to go inside, but his arms remained stiff at his sides, refusing to reach for the handle.

Concerned for their saddened friend, Wasabi walked over to him. When he laid a hand on his shoulder, Tadashi immediately looked up at him. His widened eyes and gloomy pout sent an empathetic pang in Wasabi’s chest. “You okay, man?” He asked softly.

“Yeah.” Tadashi looked away from him. “Yeah…” A small chill traveled down his spine. “There’s just...a lot of good memories in there. Creating Baymax and...a-and introducing Hiro to Baymax…” His monotone voice trembled as he recalled the evening that he first brought his brother on campus. It thrilled him beyond relief that he had gone from wanting to make a career out of bot-fighting to attending SFIT so quickly. Sharing his lab with him crossed his mind several times. There was no doubt in his mind that they would have worked on so many projects together. Hiro probably would have come up with ideas to include for Baymax.

The hand Wasabi had on Tadashi’s shoulder was a more firm grasp now. “We understand. We miss Hiro too...and Baymax.”

At the mention of the young robotics prodigy and healthcare companion, they all shared a moment of silence. There wasn’t anything they could add to the conversation. What Wasabi said was true. They all knew it and didn’t want to say anything to cause Tadashi more distress than he was already dealing with.

“Do you mind if I catch up with you guys later?” Tadashi requested. “I would like to be in my lab alone for a bit.”

He gave his friends a guilty look, feeling bad for wanting some space. On the darkest days of his life, he pushed away everyone he loved. He didn’t want to be pitied or receive comfort for something he felt like he could have prevented. No matter how many times he ignored them, they still contacted him as often as they could. Although they met up again under intense circumstances, it made Tadashi realize how much he missed their company.

Thankfully, none of them seemed worried about parting ways. Wasabi flashed him a smile before him and the other turned to continue walking.

Without the pressure of being watched, Tadashi finally gripped his hand on the handle. He slowly opened the door, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Stepping inside, he looked around his lab. Everything was exactly where he left it.

He walked over to his desk. The first thing he noticed was his sketchbook which contained drawings of Baymax. He opened the book, eyeing the detailed sketches of his invention. It felt like forever ago when he was having difficulties to get his design just right. He knew he wanted something simple, but if creating Baymax proved anything to him, it was that everything about him was complex. Robotics was his passion; therefore he was a perfectionist when it came to his creations. Baymax was far from being an exception.

With his mind being on robots, Tadashi remembered that he had packed Megabot with him. Flipping the flap of his satchel, Tadashi dug through his bag until he found the bot. He didn’t have it in his heart to smile.

“Wish you were here, little brother.”

Tadashi carefully sat Megabot down against his desk lamp. He turned around to take in the rest of his surroundings. His eyes curiously wandered to a large box on the ground. Last he checked, he didn’t put that there. What was in it?

He made his way over to the box, curiously opening it. With two flaps undone, he was already able to see what was inside. His heart dropped while undoing the remaining flaps. It was Baymax’s rocket fist.

How could he have forgotten? After the battle with Callaghan, all that was left of him was the rocket fist he had used to save him and Abigail. Tadashi didn’t want it in the house in the event Aunt Cass found it and Wasabi offered to put it in his lab for him.

Although the piece of armor brought back agonizing memories, he couldn’t let it stay in the box. Physically, it was the only part of Baymax he had left. Even though it wasn’t a part from his regular design, it was still his.

Lifting it out of the box, Tadashi cautiously brought it over to one of his cluttered tables. He wasn’t sure if this would be the permanent spot for it yet, but for now this worked.

Once it was set down, Tadashi placed a hand atop of the thumb. A warm smile formed across his face as he thought back to how helpful his friend had been. No matter how helpless he felt when they had to say goodbye, Tadashi felt nothing, but gratitude towards Baymax. He’d give anything to repay him.

In an attempt to lighten his mood, Tadashi fist bumped the rocket fist. “Ba-la-la-la,” he imitated fondly. He remembered when he first taught Baymax what a fist bump was. It could not have been more adorable.

Just as he was about to turn away, Tadashi’s eyes caught sight of something peculiar peeking through the fingers of the rocket. What was that? Last he knew, nothing was in Baymax’s hand when he deactivated. Perhaps it was some debris that had been floating around in the portal?

Turning back, he carefully undid each finger of the fist. The object slid down, lying in the center of the palm. An object that Tadashi immediately recognized the second he got a good look at it.

It was the chip he created for Baymax. The chip that he programmed over ten thousand medical procedures into. The heart of his friend. Something he believed would be gone forever. It was here the whole time. How it was possible, he was unsure. But it didn’t matter. He still had the key to what makes Baymax who he is.

“My chip,” he marveled breathlessly. He mentally noted that the chip had earned a couple small cracks, but it was definitely operable. With that in mind, the wheels in Tadashi’s head started turning at full speed. A huge smile appeared on his face. He could rebuild Baymax! In truth, the idea had crossed his mind before, but he held back on it. Tadashi worried that if he completely recreated Baymax from scratch, he wouldn’t be the same. Sure, the outside of him wouldn’t be the original, but the chip was intact. That was the important part.

With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Tadashi pulled up his blueprints of Baymax on his computer. He paced around his lab, looking through drawers to check and see what pieces he already had to work with. On a piece of paper, he sketched out the skeleton on his robotic friend, making notes on what he wanted to upgrade him with. He recalled Hiro telling him that super capacitors would help him charge faster. That was a must.

There were still some parts he’d need to get later, but Tadashi had the majority of things he’d need to remake Baymax. For now, he sat at his desk to work out some basic outlines. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he said as he sketched more ideas out. “You’ll be back to normal soon. I promise.”

As the robotics student dove further into his work, the orange screen from across the room turned on. A video started to play, featuring a slender, modest African-American woman. “Good morning. I’m Professor Granville, your new Dean of Students. Welcome to San Fransokyo Institute of Technology.”

The second he heard her talking, Tadashi turned his attention to the video. So this was the new dean. He knew nothing about her, but he could see why people assumed she was tough. She talked professionally and had a stern look on her face. There was an intimidating vibe to her, but that was to be expected. She has big shoes to fill and she seemed prepared.

Her video message was short and straight to the point. She casually welcomed everyone back to SFIT and formally introduced herself. Tadashi didn’t have an opinion on her yet, but she seemed like a good fit for the new dean. She wouldn’t have been chosen for the job if she wasn’t qualified after all. Not to mention after the whole Callaghan ordeal, they probably had to perform background checks on potential candidates.

He wanted to like her. He hoped he would. But he also wanted to see her solely as a professor. Not his mentor. Not his friend. A teacher that he hoped to gain a mutual respect with at most.

With the video done, Tadashi went right back to working out some more details in Baymax’s design. He was so invested in his work that he hadn’t heard someone knocking at his door. Or that that same person entered inside his lab.

“Mr. Hamada?”

Still no response. Once Tadashi fell deep into projects, the rest of the world disappeared.

“Mr. Hamada!”

The voice calling out to him finally got through. The upperclassman jolted in his seat, quickly turning around in his chair to see who was talking to him. There, now in person, stood Professor Granville. She stood tall with her hands behind her back. A displeased frown had made its way on her face.

Tadashi shifted his eyes around the room a couple times before focusing his attention back on her. “U-um, sorry,” he began. “I-I didn’t hear you.”

“I see you’re making yourself comfortable in your lab,” the professor speculated. Tadashi gulped. “Yeah...I am actually.”

Something in Professor Granville’s expression appeared to soften a little. “Well, I wanted to stop by to personally welcome you back. I have heard a great deal about you...and what you have recently been through. I’m sorry for you loss.”

Her unexpected condolence brought back the ache in Tadashi’s heart that had momentarily left when he had discovered Baymax’s chip. He hadn’t known this new professor for more than thirty seconds and she already knew more about him than he wished she did.

“Oh...thank you.” He turned back around to face his desk, not wanting her to see him upset. “My brother was really excited about going here…”

“Hiro was quite the impressive prodigy. I have no doubt that he would have excelled as a student here.”

Tadashi’s head hung low. He wanted to question how much she knew about his brother, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Her words were truthful, but it stung to hear them past tense.

“After all, he would have had you to help guide him.” Granville clasped her hands together. “You are a gifted, young man and I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Her touching words managed to make Tadashi smile if only for less than a second. A grin nearly twitched along his lips, only for him to remind himself to remain neutral. He turned back around to face her again. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll get to know you better too.”

Granville nodded. “Yes, well I don’t think it’ll be anytime soon. Your first class is in a few minutes and I know you’re not one to be tardy.”

As she started to walk away, Tadashi grabbed for his notes and Baymax’s chip, placing them inside his satchel. “Right.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t want to be late.” He rushed out the door, following right behind the new dean. “It was nice to me-”

“Tick tock, Mr. Hamada,” Granville interrupted. “Don’t want to keep your professor waiting.”

Having nothing left to say, Professor Granville walked away, maintaining her stiff posture. Tadashi watched her walk off for a brief moment before turning to go to class. That certainly wasn’t how he expected to meet the new professor, but it went surprisingly well.

Still, he’d rather not think too much of it. He had more important things to focus on. And he’d work nonstop if he had to to get Baymax back.

---

Omg the first chapter to this AU is finally finished! Wow, these chapters are going to be long. I originally planned to have the chapters even way longer though. But the idea of the chapters being twice as long definitely didn’t seem ideal to me and kept me from being motivated.

Basically, Baymax Returns was originally going to have 4 chapters. Every 22 minute episode I plan on doing would have 2. And Countdown To Catastrophe would have 6. But now I have it set where Baymax Returns is going to have 8. Regular 22 minute episodes will have 4. CTC will have somewhere between 10-12??? Idk, I’ll figure it out. The second I decided to cut the chapters shorter, I was much more excited to continue writing. I definitely have my work cut out for me haha.

So far, things in this AU are pretty similar to what’s going on in the show. Obviously, not everything is going to be the same. Tadashi is going to be making completely different decisions along the way than Hiro did. Some might be similar. You’ll have to see how things go as the story continues. For now, he’s taking things at his own pace. I hope you all will be excited to see what will go on.

Also, I made a thing in photoshop based on this chapter!

Here it is! It’s not really great, but I had fun editing it.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! :D

[chyna9]

Chyna’s Valentine Day Fantasy

The guy: He's 6-foot-5 and has a build like Billy Gunn. He has tan, smooth skin and no body hair. He's Latin looking with dark brown thick hair that's groomed -- a short, military-type haircut. Light blue eyes. He has a sexy face with exceptional bone structure, and he wears fragrances like Hugo Boss and Chanel. The date: At one of her many events, she meets a man and hits it off with right away. However, because she's so busy and meets thousands of people every day, she forgets about him. However, he doesn't forget about her. When he gets in touch with her a few weeks later, she lets him do all the talking. She has to be completely convinced that he's worth fitting into to her fanatical schedule. Plus, she's not interested in dating, so he had better be very entertaining. When he gets the feeling that hes won her over enough to earn a date, he describes the plan: a limousine will pick her up at 10 a.m. tomorrow; she doesn't have to bring anything. It'll all be taken care of. With that, he hangs up the phone. She's left feeling intrigued and she thinks, "Is this guy a mobster?" The limo arrives on time and takes her to the Plaza Hotel in New York City. She's escorted to her $10,000-per-night suite, which is entirely filled with red roses. There's candy and chocolates, as well as several personal servants that are there to indulge her -- a masseuse, make-up artist, hair-stylist, manicurist, pedicurist. While she's getting pampered, a box arrives with a glamorous dress inside -- seafoam green silk with a low back and straps made of diamonds. There's a note inside: "Wear this tonight. Your car will be ready at 8 p.m. I'll will call you today to see how you're doing." But he never calls. She's loving her day, but she can't help but feel a little out of control. Who is this guy? And perhaps even scarier: She may end up liking him too much. It's time to go and she's looking and feeling better than ever. She's escorted to the car and is met by a throng of paparazzi outside. Somehow word has leaked that Chyna was at the Plaza. Photographers are flashing away, and that's OK because everything's perfect. The reporters are eager to know, "Chyna, Where are you going? Is there a special event? An awards show?" She says, "Frankly, I don't know where I'm going." She gets in the car, which is a little chilly (its always cold in a limo). She looks next to her and there's a full-length chinchilla coat. Another note: "Since I'm not there to keep you warm, maybe this will." She thinks perhaps she's going to a restaurant, but is instead taken to a private airstrip. Normally she would be tentative to get on an airplane with someone she doesn't know very well. However, the red carpet had been rolled out and theres welcoming glow coming from the jet, so she steps on board, and there he is. He's wearing head to toe Prada -- black slacks, a black blazers, Prada shoes with no socks and a white silk T-shirt with a crew neck. He welcomes her onboard, hands her some champagne, takes her jacket and is just memorized by how beautiful she is. He can't take his eyes off her. He asks her if she likes the jacket and the dress, and she responds that she does, of course. He says, "I want you to relax. I've contacted your place of employment and you have been granted a week away from work." Immediately she thinks, "I didn't pack anything!" Then she sees three big pieces of Hermes luggage and is assured that this man has gone shopping for her needs. They make themselves comfortable, the jet takes off and he says, "You must be hungry. What's your favorite kind of food?" She answers Italian. He says, "Great, because I'm taking you there for dinner." During the seven-hour trip to Italy, he makes her laugh, asks her lots of questions and is just glued to her every word. When she asks about him, he swerves the conversation back to her, which makes him seem mysterious, yet intriguing. He pulls out a cello because he knows that she plays it, and he asks her to do so. She obliges, playing for him "The Swan" from "Carnival of the Animals." He loves it. They land in Rome and he takes her to the yacht, welcomes her aboard and leads her to her quarters, where she finds tons of new clothes hanging in the closets. She can't decide what to put on. She comes out on deck in a bathing suit. He is wearing casual cotton/gauze drawstring pants. She gets her first glance at his upper body, which is very impressive. He's barefoot, and he's gazing at her like shes beautiful. She feels like, "I'm ready for this guy to kiss me right now!" Instead, he says, "Make yourself at home. My servants will get you anything you need." And he roars off in his Lamborghini. She's so excited that she doesn't feel tired, but after she showers and explores the yacht a bit, she falls asleep in her bed. She awakes to a soft kiss and Mr. Right says, "You're so beautiful when you're sleeping. I've been watching you." She's totally seduced by him -- not intimidated. She wants to get intimate right then and there. Instead, he whispers to her with a smile, "Come with me. I want to show you something." They go into this other room, where there's this beautiful ballroom gown. He hands her a blue velvet box, and inside are Bvlgari earnings and a necklace -- jewelry that even Princess Diana had never worn. He says, "We're going to a party." The Bentley limo brings them to an enormous, opulent palace. The party is already in full swing. There are rows of fancy cars outside. He takes her hand and they walk up the marble staircase. They come to a gigantic landing, and below them is a sea of people. A chime indicates they've arrived. The people look up, and then bow. Now she's thinking, "This guy must be the man! He's not a mobster, he's royalty!" He turns out to be a prince. While she can hardly catch her breath, she has an ear-to-ear grin. He takes her hand and escorts her through the parting crowd and the Waltz begins. (In this dream, Chyna knows how to do the Waltz.) They circle around the dance floor to the delight of the guests. The "oohs" and "aahs" are all in Italian, so it's very fantastico. The dance ends and this man, to whom hundreds have bowed, goes down on one knee before Chyna, holds her hand in his and asks, "Will you be my princess?" She says yes. On a velvet pillow comes a diamond tiara, which is placed on her head. And he kisses her with a wonderful, passionate kiss. There's a huge celebration, the party's in high gear. Without a word, they slip off to his grand bedroom. There's a fireplace, a marble, four-post bed with the velvet canopy and animal-skin rugs. He slams the door shut, pushes her against the wall and tears the dress off, leaving her bare with only gems and tiara. They ensue in a harmonious evening of passionate lovemaking.

[theruneslayer]

An Ember amidst the Ash of Thorns

((A brief RP interlude bridging the gap to Boralus.))

It had been two weeks since she’d left.

He’d awoken that morning to the sounds of silence; Mac had returned to the room with -another- whiskey, and while they weren’t quite snores, her breath came heavily at times as she tossed in her sleep. It had been a fitful slumber. He’d waited to see if the dreams would trouble her anew, before finally allowing himself the respite his battered body needed.

He knew in a heartbeat that she was not in the house; the sort of stillness that hung about abandoned homes had settled in, despite the vibrantly-alive song of bird and bug that filtered from the flowering vines. The scent of sweat on her sheets was a heady thing, a trace of warmth lingering on the bed now devoid of its blanket. Perhaps she had gone off to hunt once again, though the buck she’d brought back still hung outside. Odd, perhaps, but he did not know Steaks, nor her morning routine… nor if the nightmares had upset it. But he did not fear for her. One might be defenseless against dreams, but he did not think this one would be defenseless against anything else. Not so soon after…

And so he’d busied himself about the cottage, a curious beast perhaps incognizant of boundaries while he nosed about the place… literally, and figuratively. He spied Zeda once, but the big snake looked none too pleased to remake his acquaintance, slithering off to who knew where as she had after he’d fallen on her.

It had been evening before he knew it, but Tryndan did not experience the passage of time in ways most understood it. He was -aware- of its passage, certainly, but the ruddy colors of dusk had taken him by surprise while he’d been lost in his thoughts, such as they were. In point of fact, they were quite clear… but with a concern that wasn’t present at the center.

Mac.

He could have reached out for her upon the Ley, as he’d done when he’d first found her here, up in her home on the hills. But it was clear even to him she’d wanted her space, and it felt somehow… wrong, to track her in such a manner. Nor did his comm seem to work, the metal dented and split from his fall. Instead, he set into the gloom that’d begun to settle over the woods in search of food. There was the buck, of course, but he did not wish to feast on it before her return. He supped on the first sheep he’d found, and strapped another across his back along with a squirrel or two before returning with a gift of dinner for Zeda.

The snake apparently made do in his absence, however… and where there had been a buck hanging from the tree before her house, there was now just a swaying rope, and a lazy black snake that appeared so wide around the middle he thought she might pop. Apparently Zeda needed no feeding, but Tryn tied the sheep to the empty rope just in case.

Clambering over it, he scampered up the rope to the branches above and chose a perch that allowed him a view of the city beyond, and her bedroom below.

A bedroom that remained empty until at long last he slept.

Zeda was still lazy the next morning, in the home Mac had not returned to, but the snake at least brushed over Tryndan’s hindpaw at one point when he trod restlessly about the home; a casual, yet gently slithering brush that seemed to speak of a tentative forgiveness. The Slayer, however, had begun to occupy his thoughts, and so he let Zeda be.

Mac’s healing had set the damage to mending, but something about her, or the home, he knew not what… knew only something here was hastening the other wounds that had yet to heal. The Slayer had stirred within, a panther in captive shadows who knew it was almost time to feed. Tryn knew he couldn’t remain here alone without the Slayer pushing him out.

And so he set through the hills -away- the city a day and a half after Mac.

Another week passed before Tryndan returned from the Eastern reaches of Elwynn, bloodied in new places yet in control once more. Passing adventurers might make note of fresh stains painting the monoliths about Stone Cairn Lake, and it was said even murlocs feared to cross to the river’s far shore.

Yet there was -still- no one home in the house on the hill, and the bed with its missing bedsheet smelled of only the ghost she’d become.

Zeda, for her part, consented to a bit of skritching upon his return; at least one woman her had forgiven him his latest trespass. Pondering his next move, Tryndan reluctantly reached out for the web of power once more…

And was nearly floored by the feedback.

Zeda, luckily, was not underfoot as he stumbled again, though the snake slithered off with a wary bit of side-eye while the worgen steadied himself. Flowing into the web was disorienting enough and taxing under duress, but this was… different.

The Ley was afire with power.

He’d sensed Mac near the City’s shore, but he’d sensed, as well, what he sometimes used the Ley to hunt - the location of a magi. But there were -hundreds- of them; more, perhaps, gathered in the City as well and drawing on powers that could only be in preparation for war.

And so it was that he barreled onto the docks not a half-hour later, scattering dockworkers and setting horses to stamping and rearing, leaving a swath of angry soldiers in his four-legged wake.

Claws gouged wood as he swerved to a stop, tearing out splinters that flew like exploding matchsticks from beneath his feet. Chest heaving, wild around the eyes and nearly frothing at the mouth from his run down the hills and through the forest to cross the City, he saw her there, crossing the planks onto a galleon as sailors worked to undo the last of her lines.

Drawn by the commotion, she looked his way while pikemen pushed the ship from its moorings, and an irritated blast of air rushed from his nostrils with enough power to fill a fleet of sails. Tryn dropped back to all fours and pounced in leaps down the jetty, claws scrabbling for purchase to keep up with his speed… before launching himself into the air and landing on a deck that’d gotten fifteen feet from shore.

Right in front of her.

His eyes narrowed as he peered down into her own, though the effect was somewhat ruined by a lolling tongue and maw open wide as he gasped for air.

He said only one thing, a wounded mix of reproach and resentment underlying his words.

“...no leave again. Tryn worry.”

@theinkedwolfooc

[theultrasquad]

 They trotted across the plain, the pair well on their way to grouping with the big green giant. One of them trotted along on their tiny feet, sounding like they were a wet mop being slopped around by an indignant janitor. The bayleef however, walked with nearly the same grace as somebody scooting around on roller skates for their first time. If anyone weren't the wiser, they might mistake her for the person in need rather than the bird skirting along as if he hopped right ou of bed. She still fine, as close as anyone can get to being alright in her circumstances. It was just the way she made herself walk, being so scared out of her mind she might happen to tumble all over again – or worse trample on the tiny bird. Better safe than sorry, even if she's gonna feel sorry making herself the former.

 She walked a wobble, careful to keep a close on the bugger to her right who lugged that satchel with both hands and strap around the shoulders. For something made for a creature of their size it sure sounded heavy; dozens of things were all clinking inside there; barely kept in their bounds by a strap keeping them all behind their burlap bars; overall looking as if he was carrying a whole squad's worth of provisions all in some tiny satchel. How they managed to fit, why he had what he had or the many other questions as to who this fellow was were as boggling as the rest. Maybe he was an adventurer, she thought, maybe he was just a pack 'mon like the deliberd she nearly thought he was.

 It wouldn't hurt to ask, right? She was already running her mouth off when a tap on the bird's shoulder with her leaf made him stop and swerve around, beading up at her with those tiny eyes as a humble “What?” slipped from him.

 Then and there was where she would've asked him whether he really was some adventurer, maybe she'd even take a moment to hear about where on earth little flipper came from. There were plenty of things to learn, but she or the tow other 'mons here really should have kept an eye out before stopping because they braked right under an outcropping; a jagged stone pillar which so happened to house the big birdy troublemaker. Who after spotting them with her wicked eyes took the first chance they could get to spring their head out like a burrowing rodent and shout fury down at who dared cross her.

 It was like a judge dropping a gavel; it was like everyone had zippers for mouths and they just zipped themselves up; silence fell them and the only thing bold enough to make a sliver of noise were the patter of footsteps way in the back and the much louder one which seemed to zoom right up to them. She took a quick look behind her, not if she really needed to, because the rattling of the man's bony fashion way back was just as unmistakable as the knight's rattling mail. Pluck had skittered his way to the clearly the perfect time to see the two across from him frozen faced and their neighborhood watchman suddenly standing over them with his arms crossed; chest puffed, and his white teeth looking like they could grind up diamonds

 There was a bird cowering to their right; a bayleef who wasn't fond of becoming food; Pluck who didn't quite seem to care and all there was to challenge her words was who boldly took everyone's side. Piplup scurried over on his webbed feet, latching onto her leg like some little chick before his eyes and hers, turned their sights to the boisterous warrior.

 His arms threw themselves wide, greeting their scowl with a sudden warm embrace as his glare faded into mockery.  “Adventurers?” he chided in laughter. “It's strange to hear compliments coming from you, but I'll take any I can get!”

 “I called you idiots!” she snapped. “or do you prefer morons? Because that's exactly what all of you are - you especially, weed-for-brains!”

 He didn't even hesitate; there wasn't even a second or two between her burns and his stubborn rebukes. Ekur threw his hands down onto his big chest then shot right back

 “I know what I am; so what makes you?”

 It was clear to them she was loosing her ground, she was taking too long just to answer him back. Rather than trying to get back at him or even worse- lose their petty argument, she let out the sharpest hiss she could as she vanished behind the rocks, the bitter, bitter taste of defeat burning in her tongue. He had every opportunity to catch a breath, yet Ekur held onto his demeanor in a vice. And as things had seemed to have gotten into the clear the Bayleef, having enough of the big bird looking down their backs, spoke to the watchman.

 “Why don't you go up there, Ekur?”

 “You're kidding,” as if she was stupid to ask. “she has the high ground!”

 Ifi wasn't the most clover, but she was smart enough to know. Hearing too many stories about pokemon battles over the local radio provided her a smidgen of tertiary knowledge, enough to realize elevation didn't so much matter if the 'mon atop had squat for projectiles. The bird looks the part of a storm cloud; it didn't mean for a second she actually was. Though where she was smart; as was pluck but he was frankly too busy watching; Piplup over here wasn't too quick-witted.

 “Yeah, but!” he chimed in, just as he nearly tumbled over with all he was carrying. “It doesn't matter if you can jump real high right? You'll be on level field if you just put some work into it!”

 The two grass types shot bewildered looks at each other, right in front of someone who was too dim-witted to even notice just how stupid he made himself sound. Maybe the big bird wasn't so wrong after all, but they sure weren't going to show she was right.

  After some false deliberation and a swift glance at Ifi, Ekur spoke up.

 “Please, please tell me more!”

 “And if you were flying, she'd just catch you.” the kid quickly added. “But if ever she flies you can jump right up and dunk her right off her high ground again!”

 “Hmm..” his meaty claws stroked the bottom of his chin as Ifi watched on a with an empty stare. “...I wouldn't have ever thought of it that way; perhaps I'd ought to go over there myself and muse on what your words Little One.”

 Piplup marveled on as Ifi scooted her way to his side and on the tips of her toes she whispered into the warrior's helmet-covered ears. “I'll keep an eye on 'Little One' here.”.

 He answered her back with the slightest nod of his head as he whipped around – marching on the way around and up the perilous crag as she remained at the tot's side. She kept one eye over em as his gaping beak drooled out a star struck “Wow...”, the other eye looking back at their doctored friend.

 While she did say she was going to keep an eye on him, she could probably leave the bird to his drooling for now because the Cubone had caught her eye. It wasn't what he was doing that had her scrutinizing him, there was nothing for him to really mess with other than rocks here and there so they weren't in any real danger of being horribly disfigured. It was what he was looking at; not her; not at the big guy bounding away; but straight past all of them with a look she could only surmise as awe-stricken shock.

[himbowelsh]

prompt if you're able: Sledge finds a Japanese child no older than five in the jungle and argues with Snafu on whether they should keep the child

AN: inspired by this picture.

This isn’t a situation he thought he’d ever find himself in.

It’s not as if Eugene dislikes children. Actually, he has no real opinion on them whatsoever — save for mild annoyance when they scream, but that’s natural. From what limited experience he has with kids, they tend to be sticky, loud, and helpless. He is not a fan of any of these qualities, so he tends to avoid children as much as possible.

It’s a tactic that’s worked for him so far. It doesn’t mean he hates kids. He doesn’t.

He just doesn’t know what to do with them.

“What do we do?” he asks; and, when he gets no reply, says it louder. “What do we do, Snaf?”

“Why're you asking me?” His companion demands, sounding just as harassed as Eugene feels. “I look like I know?”

“Well, I’ve got no clue! So if you’re just as lost as I am...” Eugene trails off, swallowing hard. He’s doing his best not to look at it.

Not it, his traitorous brain reminds him. Her.

The child in front of them doesn’t make much of an impression. Chances are, neither of them would have noticed her at all, if she hadn’t wandered out of the trees and scares them both half to death. She seemed frightened at first; until they both lowered their guns at the realization of just what they were looking at. Then they were just left staring, like the girl is a creature from another planet. Of all the things they expected to find on a scouting mission, a kid isn’t one of them.

Now, she seems rather disillusioned with them. She sits in a pile of leaves, gathering them up in her tiny fists, and glancing up at them before letting them flutter in the air around her. If Sledge didn’t know better, he’d say she’s showing off — trying to put on a show for the silly American soldiers who’ve never seen a child before, apparently.

He feels more hysterical than she looks. That makes him feel sort of pathetic.

“Do we keep her?” he demands, voice jumping in pitch. He must sound ridiculous, but he’s at a genuine loss. They didn’t teach this in basic.

Snafu turns his head slowly to look at him. “I ain’t ready to be a father, Sledgehammer.”

The worst part is, it takes Sledge a minute to realize he’s joking. Snafu’s eyes are so wide and earnest that the moment it clicks he feels like he’s been smacked. He returns the favor by smacking Snafu right back. His palm connects with his ribs, but Snafu doesn’t even flinch. “You think this is funny? Huh? What're we supposed to do with her?”

“I dunno.” Snafu takes a step out of Sledge’s range and squints at the child. “Scrawny lil’ bit, ain’t she?”

It’s true; the little girl has got less meat on her bones than Snafu himself. Her arms are like twigs, marred with scratches and bug bites. Her cheeks are hollow, and even the worn dress she’s wearing looks two sizes too big for her. Sledge wonders when the last time she ate was, and feels a flash of instinctual concern. She can’t be more than two or three. This little kid out here in the jungle, all alone... 

The war has not been kind to Okinawa’s civilians. In the constant chaos of battle, it’s hard to make out who’s the enemy and who isn’t. Sledge doesn’t think he’s killed a civilian himself, but if he did he probably wouldn’t know it. He’s seen houses be fired on indiscriminately, come across the dead bodies of women and children. The memory of the woman with her baby in her arms, sobbing over the dynamite strapped to her chest, still makes him dizzy with horror. He knows how innocent people get caught up in the atrocities of war. It happens too often. Just looking at this wide eyed child makes his stomach turn.

“We can’t just leave her,” he emphasizes, stating the obvious. “We’ve got to do something.”

“You got an idea what that somethin’ is?”

Sledge thinks for a moment, though he really doesn’t have to. “No.”

Snafu considers the child, like he’s examining apples at the supermarket. After a few seconds he drops down in a crouch, eyes narrowed at the child. Sledge wonders if he’s going to do that creepy intimidation shtick again, before he holds out one arm.

“See if she’ll come to us,” he declares, then begins to beckon the girl. “Come here. Come here, petit chou, come closer. We ain’t gon’ hurt ya. Come here, you.”

The child blinks at him with black, unimpressed eyes. She doesn’t move.

“For God’s sake,” Sledge says.

“Hush,” Snafu retorts, shuffling a step closer to her. “C’mon, baby. How old’re you, anyway?”

“She doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

“Come on now.” Snafu reaches the girl. Since he’s apparently elected to ignore his companion, Sledge sees no reason to warn him about the look in the child’s eye as he reaches out. He doubts that Snafu, the apparent baby expert, hasn’t noticed himself.

Snafu’s hand settles on her arm, and she screams.

Not just screaming. Full on wailing. It’s like the screech of a shell tearing through the night, an air raid siren going off, fire trucks racing to the scene of a disaster. Snafu stumbles back like he’s been burned, while the girl...

Well, the girl doesn’t go anywhere. She just curls into a ball and keeps screaming.

“Dammit!” Snafu hisses. “Shit! Damn! How do we shut her up, Sledge?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Sledge!”

“Fine!”

He really has no idea, so Sledge does the first thing he can think of: he empties his pockets. He’s got a tiny pencil in there, and a few bent playing cards, among other things. His most interesting possession is his worn Bible — the same one he’s studiously filled with notes since they landed. He promptly throws his Bible at the child.

(His ancient grandmother used to employ a similar method to get Sledge and his brother to shut up when they were children. This doesn’t occur to him until later.)Whether out of shock, confusion, or just plain outrage, the girl cuts herself off. Her gaze swerves from the book lying at her side, to  Eugene, then back again. Slowly, she picks up the pocket Bible. Snafu, still on his haunches, blinks at her.“I can’t believe you just did that,” he says. Eugene stays quiet. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? Huh? She’s stopped crying, hasn’t she?”

The child promptly flings the book right back. It bounces off of Sledge’s helmet, nearly knocking him over.

“You know, I think I like her,” Snafu says.

They wind up taking the little girl back, because there’s nothing else for them to do.

“Next town we find, we leave her there,” Burgie tells them. “We can’t have a kid hanging around and giving away our position. ‘Til then, just try to keep her quiet, alright?”

“Got it,” Sledge replies. He’s carefully not looking over his shoulder, where he knows Snafu will be bouncing the little girl in his arms. She seems to have taken a gradual liking to Snafu. He’s the only one she’ll let pick her up, and he takes advantage of this by bouncing her on his hip at every opportunity, holding her and muttering little ditties in a mixture of English and French. When Sledge pointed out that she couldn’t understand a word of it, he just smirked.

“She don’t gotta understand. She’s a kid. They like songs.” When he looked at the little girl again, there was a shade of humanity in his eyes — one Sledge had never seen before. (It only occurred to him later that perhaps he was not seeing Snafu at all, but the Merriell Shelton that existed before the war. The one who would bounce hypothetical little sisters on his knee and sing them songs; who’d play peek-a-boo; who maybe dreamed of a family of his own one day. No wonder he seemed so unfamiliar. Sledge does not know that Shelton at all.)

That night, when Snafu curls up in their foxhole, the little girl is with him. He’s made her a nest out of some old t-shirts and blankets. She curls up in it like a small dog, drawing herself into a ball and snuggling down. Even Sledge has to admit that it’s kind of cute.

He and Snafu both watch over her for a few minutes, neither sure what to say. It seems wrong, somehow, to pretend this is a normal night. This is not normal. This little girl’s life is changed forever, torn up by a war she’s too young to even understand. She is innocent of all the bloodshed; yet here she is, rescued from the woods, washed and fed, by the people her father would call enemies.

“I ain’t gonna give her a name,” Snafu says after a while. “She has one already. Ain’t fair.”

“She’ll be alright,” Sledge says, and hopes it’s true. He has to believe that God will provide for this child — the way he has not seen fit to do for anyone else on this cursed island.

Maybe, maybe. Maybe she will live a good life. A life of peace.

“Yeah,” Snafu mutters. “She will be.”

When he looks up, Sledge sees the echoes of Merriell Shelton in Snafu’s eyes, and he cannot help but wonder if the two are not one and the same.

[powerovernothing]

“An Unwritten Law~”

“Like a fool, Yondu Udonta assumed that for once in his life – when it surely mattered the most – the ever-merciless universe would just cut him a damn break, But, as one would expect, the universe remained unmoving as ever. Because, after all, when the hell did the universe ever do what he wanted it to, anyway?”

Part of me wants to apologize profusely because of this, but then the other part of me just wants to laugh in sheer giddiness! Because it’s been years since I’ve written anything even remotely like this – and well why not share it with the fandom?

It goes without saying that this contains massive spoilers for Guardians of the Galaxy 2. But, just remember. You all said you wished there were stories where the ending was rewritten.

So that’s what you get.

Peter/Yondu father son related things. Mostly from Yondu’s point of view. And a whole lot of tears and sadness. (Also fair amounts of language) Have fun ~

@justicealwayswins @nickoflahertys @packratofdenialism @sithhappensrandomly @littlekiwifrog @ask-a-ravager

There’s an unwritten law in the galaxy. Placed right beside ‘No honor among thieves,’ and nestled comfortably against ‘Karma will catch up to you in the end,’ that law remains simply as: ‘No parent should have to bury their child.’

And although two of the three laws had certainly left their lashes against him over the years, Yondu Udonta had made damn sure that, with every strength that resided in his ever-stubborn foundation… the third law would never come to pass.

Not when he traveled to Terra with the intent to carry out an incredibly profitable job, and ended up with a choice that had changed his life for better or worse. Not when he followed in rebellious footsteps and went up against an army of Sakaarans, Kree, and whatever else the sky decided to toss that day, or even after he fell out the sky himself.

And certainly, not when he stood twenty years later, upon a planet falling into nothingness, with his adopted son at his side.

He had steeled himself when his hands clasped around the booster pack, as well as single life support; knowing that he had never done anything right with his life. Not with his parents, not with his team, and sure as hell not with his son. There were so many things left unsaid, so many moments that he could have, and would have, done differently – if only it were a possibility.

But, when did th’ universe ever do what I wanted it’ta, anyway?

A loud explosion and a rush of bright light forced him from his thoughts; and as he strapped on the booster pack, he turned to briefly watch the battle ranging before him. Another flash, combined with screams, and something so utterly absurd, and yet so much like the Peter Quill he knew he couldn’t help but chuckle – and it was then when he realized he was indeed doing something right for once in his life, after all.

For whatever the hell that was worth.

He kicked at his heels and left the ground beneath him with a slight grunt. His body clearly not pleased with any movement that wasn’t strictly whistling based at that moment. With a fair amount of effort, he forced down every ache and pain that he felt, and carefully shifted around various debris and rock; hoping to stay upright just long enough to seek out the battle’s obvious victor and bring him to safety.

Both Ego and Peter had certainly left quite the odd combat zone in their wake. However, considering the motivation, as well as the need for so much partnered destruction to effectively bring Ego down, it was certainly no surprise to see such mayhem set before him.

After all, if he, himself, even had half the ability – what was it that Peter had called it? A natural connection to the light, or some other kind of nonsense that went over his head? – he gladly would have done a hell of a lot more to someone like that ol’ jackass –

As he quickly rounded a corner, all the while avoiding strangely yellow slabs of rubble raining from overhead, he finally witnessed said fool of a son hunched on his knees. Not frantic in realizing what was happening. Not struggling to find a way to escape. But simply unmoving as the planet erupted and collapsed around him.

Just what was he thinking, sitting there like that, and with that zoned out look in his eyes? That somehow, after that display of outstanding power, he would just roll over and accept what was happening? That somehow, going down with the planet was the most heroic thing to do as final act as leader?

Forcing his speed to hasten, the only thought that resonated in his mind was one of sheer irritation. Because Peter should have known better than to make such idiotic choices…as he had specifically taught him not to make such idiotic choices!

Moving past fading light, brain matter, and whatever else an egotistic jackass was made from, he reached his arms around his son – all the while ignoring the surprised squeal in response – and bolted upward and away from crumbling platforms.

This decision was not something that Yondu Udonta was going to allow; he was going to make absolute sure of that.

He could feel Peter’s body tense in his grasp, and his head swerve to pierce him with the utmost bewildered look. He had always been a relativity simple read, and thus could easily see everything spoken in that single gaze alone. Just what do you think you’re doing, old man? Why are you even here in the first place? Why did you come back for me?

Had he not have had a protective arm firmly attached to his boy’s waist, and the other busy keeping them both balanced as they left the fiery wreckage behind, he would have slapped one of them against the top of those red-brown locks for even having the gall to consider those questions.

But now wasn’t the time for teasing, nor was it the time for his special brand of parenting that had been all too common throughout the years. He knew that this was to be their final moments together… and like hell was he going to spend them arguing, or wasting breath on a lecture over reasons why you should never just giv’ up after ya beat the shit outta yer jackass of a father in space magic to space magic combat.

So, he smiled down at him instead.

And if he thought that Peter looked at a complete loss before, over the mere concept of the elder Centaurian being his savior, then the young man’s confusion doubled – tripled even – when he noticed the rare expression suddenly overtaking rough features.

Perhaps in another life, when they weren’t quickly running out of time and atmosphere, he would have found it all so incredibly amusing.

“He may have been yer father,” He said slowly; tightening his hold and making sure their eyes were locked as the words fell almost too easily. As though they had been buried deep for so long, and were finally – finally – set free. “But he wasn’t yer daddy.”

He felt the grip around his jacket slack considerably when the words settled, and as the two of them drifted into the beginnings of cold space, Yondu took the shocked quietness as an indication to keep going.

And so, he did.

Genuineness etched into every word, every syllable – because these were the things you were supposed to say when you chose to give your life for your child, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if there was a manual for these types of situations, so he went with the only things that came to mind.

The only words that mattered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do none of it right,” He spoke softly, but still loud enough to be heard over the whirls of flames whipping at their heels; still loud enough for Peter to hear his words…and to know that he meant them. “…But I’m damn lucky you’re my boy.”

And there they lingered. Echoing, resonating, attaching themselves to the mind of someone who doubtlessly needed to hear such things far more often than he was allowed. And as he secured the single life support to pale Terran skin, he forced himself to believe that it was only the hollowness of space that choked at his throat.

This would make it right; would fix every mistake that was done over the twenty-so years that passed by too quickly. He wasn’t the perfect role model; wasn’t worthy of anything even comparable to the word parent, but still he tried his damnest to somehow raise him – the overly affection boy that stumbled into his life on an outrageous whim – in ways he could only assume was correct.

And he was hard, of course he was, because he was taught that love was a weakness. If love was felt, it could be taken away; thus, he pretended not to care.

And although breaths began to come far and in-between with each ebbing puff of the boosters, he knew that deep down…it was all complete and utter nonsense.

Because he did care.

The problem was, however, that he cared too much. And when he looked at Peter; looked at Star Lord…

He saw a Guardian of the Galaxy; a big fat hero – with the attitude to match, no less. He saw a man who not only held an unbelievable stone in his grasp, without so much as flinching, but also a man that overcame his own father with incredible amounts of strength and character.

…And he was so damn proud.

Even as Peter finally realized what was happening; what he had done and why, and cried out in fear, – because, Yondu you can’t, you can’t! – he still continued to hold on tight. Even as they both drifted weightlessly among the stars, and despair overwhelmed those big pitiful eyes of his son’s… he still continued to smile.

It’s gonna be all right. He wanted to say; to try and reassure him, to let him know, I’m okay wit’ this, and yer gonna be just fine.

The edges of his crimson eyes started to dim, and soon all that remained was the fading, blurred, image of tears streaming down Peter’s face; as he still screamed, still denied. Slowly, he reached out to cup his cheeks; wanting to tell him in touch what he couldn’t from a voice that no longer functioned.

But as his hands went to brush against familiar warmth, a powerful jolt overwhelmed his nerves and senses instead; shocking his body with incredible pain and forcing his limbs to seize briefly.

And suddenly, the once failing vison flickered anew with clarity. The desperate heaves of spent lungs now steadied themselves. And as he hovered in place, coughing as oxygen filled him once more… he realized with complete and absolute horror as why any of it was even possible.

The reason he was still breathing,

– was because his son was suddenly choking.

The reason he floated in a barrier of protection,

– was because his son was now exposed to the cruelty of space instead.

The reason he was safe at all,

– was because his son was dying.

In his incessant desperation, Peter had somehow ripped the life support pack from his chest and slapped it upon the other man’s own. And even despite all the pain that he knew he surely felt, because he was feeling it just seconds before, and now it belonged to his boy and not to him, and it was all wrong, he still wore that same crooked smartass grin.

Even as ice crept and overtook the corners of his lips, and his chest heaved with effort… he was smiling. Why the hell was he smiling. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t a joke.

It was a mistake.

Because he was fully prepared to die for his son. Ready to let him live on, to be safe and surrounded by good – better – people, and to finally know just how much he truly cared for the absolute biggest pain in the ass that he ever had the pleasure of raising.

But it seemed Peter had disagreed. That he didn’t quite approve of what Yondu had planned, and –unsurprisingly – rebelled against his ideas once again.

And this time, it was going to cost him his life.

No, no no, Yondu’s mind was racing all at once; every second leading to the same outcome, to the same terrible thought, his life, his life, his life ending, and Ego couldn’t have this, he couldn’t have him, not when he tried so hard to keep him –

Burying down the thoughts, he reached and grasped Peter firmly by his shoulders with both of his hands; forcing him upright to look him in the eyes.

“Just what do you think yer doing, boy!?” He spat; anger mixing with his own dread, and oh, was he terrified. “Ya’ stupid moron, yer supposed to be the one that gets saved! Why th’hell would ya turn a’round and save me for?! This ain’t how it’s s’posed to be!”

He shook him in sheer frustration – because he was better than this, better than him, to go and make wrong choice after wrong choice, and why this, out of all the ones he could have done – but when Peter’s head lobbed forward, almost too limply, he regretted it instantly; because his harsh actions seemed to take more life out of him than intended.

And it was happening too quickly; and he just couldn’t understand why.

His mind swam; recalling, remembering, knowing that the boy had lasted considerably longer before when he had risked it all for that green skinned girl, – that girl, that girl, g – g something, but why the hell did her name matter anyway, she ain’t here.

But he is.

And he gets to watch him die; watch him fade away in his arms, as that luck of his finally runs out… and it was every dark thought and fear that he ever endured brought kicking and screaming into the most bitterest of realities.

“You take this back right now, do’ya hear me?!” He shouted; oddly breathless and hearing the echoes of a rapid heartbeat in his ears. “Yer gonna take it back, and yer gonna go out ther’ and save the world! Ya’ll don’t need me, but they sure as hell need you!”

For an agonizing moment, he found his hands once more reaching to grip the sides of – now partially frozen – cheeks, as he assumed that his commands went unheard. Fearing that it was already too late, and his son had already given in.

Playing the damn hero until the very end and believing that Yondu Udonta, the exiled and shameful captain of the Ravagers, was somebody worth saving.

But as anger claimed his throat and clouded his vision – because something must have severely went sideways in his upbringing if Peter Quill assumed that his life was worth anything – leather bound arms suddenly encircled him; pulling his body close to one that was too cold, and shook with every labored breath.

He could hear traces of Peter’s familiar laughter; his voice growing fainter with every effort as he buried his head into the shoulder of the man that had raised him, the man that he cared for, the man that he apparently couldn’t bear to see die.

How did it spiral all out of control and end up so backwards…?

“…So, Pops…no hard feelin’s…or anything…right…?” He heard him chuckle against his jacket; feeling as though every instance of knowing that his son was here, dying in space, instead of being safe like he was meant to be, just took another piece of his gruff heart along with it. He was never the one for showing hard emotion, and like hell was he ever the one for tears… b ut this was just too much.

Too damn much and it had to end; they had to be saved.

Where th’hell are yer friends, boy – they oughta’ be here, ‘cus what good is’a crew if they ain’t here to save yer ass during bullshit like this!

As he tore his gaze away, and cast it towards the stars – seeking out even the most remote sign of rescue, and trying not to focus on the fact that Peter sounded miles away even as he spoke directly into his ear – he absent-mindedly wrapped his arms around trembling shoulders; returning the feeble attempt at an embrace with far greater vigor.

Almost as though his own natural stubbornness would have willed some tiny speck of life back into him. Just for another moment; just until he could see the ship. Until he could see that stupid rat and that talking twig and –

“…And yea’…I know… I get that…that it’s kinda… kinda a jerk move …” Another forced sentence, another painful gasp of breath, and Peter, for once in your life just stop talking, yer old man can’t take much more – “…but hey…learned from the best…and I wasn’t, wasn’t just gonna let ‘im…steal any more… of my…family…”

He felt his mind refusing to concentrate on anything other than those words as they sickeningly replayed on repeat. Not only for the stupid ass reasoning behind the incredibly stupid ass action, but also because Peter’s voice had faded directly after speaking them… and he was suddenly very quiet.

And never, not since he had picked him up on Terra so long ago, had Yondu known his boy to be so quiet or –

Damn it all, don’t ya do this, boy – do you hear me?! Don’t ya dare!

Yondu wasn’t aware that tears now filled his crimson eyes, and had begun to spill down his cheeks into messy red-brown hair. Or that the way he held Peter against him perfectly mimicked the same exact way he once held him before; on the anniversary of a loss that simply hurt far too much for a child to simply bare all alone.

If you think that I’m just gonna let you go ahead and die after all this, like hell! I saved yer ass from Ego and I’m gonna save yer ass now!

Yondu wasn’t aware that his thoughts were not even thoughts at all. They were words, screams, pleads to a boy that never listened to him before, so why in the stars should he listen now. But maybe, if he yelled loud enough, held him close enough, did all he could to knock some better judgement into his head, then maybe, just this once…

You just keep hangin’ on like the stubborn asshole that yer are! Cus I’ve seen you last a whole hell’va lot longer than this here, and I ain’t gonna let you give it all ‘way for ma’ sake!

We don’t do this to each other, we’re Ravagers, ya forgetful idiot!

You know there’re rules ‘bout this!

Peter, you answer yer daddy when he’s talking to you, dammit!

Yondu wasn’t aware that Peter could no longer hear him.

The Guardians of the Galaxy pull the two entangled bodies into the safety of the battered Ravagers’ ship less than a minute later.

As flesh meets metal, footsteps echo within the hallways, but all too quickly they come to a screeching halt.

Gamora is the first to realize what’s wrong.

Rocket is the second.

And yet, Yondu fails to be aware of anything outside of what lies unmoving in his arms. Because they are still wrapped protectively around an iced over red jacket and he refuses to let go, even for a second. And those buncha mixed-matched nitwits could fight him on that.

As the rest of the Guardians usher into the room and balk at the sight in front of them in mixed horror; Yondu still holds on and weeps openly, bitterly, and completely over the son that he managed to lose. Over the one person that he couldn’t save even despite his best attempts. Over the one rule that he managed to break, and yet swore to himself that no matter what – he never would.

But most of all, he cries over the fact that in the end…he was such a damn, damned fool, and allowed Ego to take away everything that ever mattered to him.

His pride.

His Ravagers.

And his son.

When the group, finally – as well as forcefully, because once he lets go it’s real, it’s real and it’s happened and he failed, and he can’t live with that guilt – disconnects parent and child; and Yondu watches Gamora pick Peter into her arms and turn on her heels without so much as an entire word between them…

…he finds himself subconsciously tracing the outline of a Terran musical device hidden away in his jacket pocket.

When the remaining members follow and chase after her, when Peter is gone, – gone gone gone repeats like a twisted mantra in his mind – he slowly slumps onto the ground. Throwing the Zune across the room and pretending not to feel the bile rise in his throat when it brutally connects with the wall.

There’s an unwritten, unspoken, law in the galaxy; Yondu Udtona knows this all too well. It’s glued right up against, ‘No honor among thieves,’ and tucked uncomfortably beneath, ‘Karma will catch up to you in the end,’ and that law, that terrible awful law, remains just as it always has been: ‘No parent should have to bury their child,’.

But just like the fool that he is, and always will be, he assumed that for once in his life – when it surely mattered the most – the ever-merciless universe would just cut him a damn break, and leave that final law unbroken.

For he knew that it ever broke, somehow an old gruff and shielded raider captain – that swore he never cared about anything, let alone a scrawny ass kid from Terra – would break right along with it.

But, as one would expect, the universe remained unmoving as ever. Never once intervening when it was important.

Not when he took his son from the crumbling planet.

Not when his son decided to be a grade A asshole and save his pitiful life instead of his own.

And certainly, not when his son finally stopped speaking, moving, breathing, and fell silent in his arms.

And, why should he have been surprised at all?

Because, after all, when the hell did the universe ever do what he wanted it to, anyway?

In the end, all Yondu can do is scream.

[taesthetes]

maelstrom [ jimin ]

noun : a powerful whirlpool in the sea or river ; a situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.

you don’t know if you want to hit him or kiss him.

pairing: park jimin x reader genre: fluff type: college au word count: 2,101 words warnings: none author’s note: happy birthday to my other half #rat @dreamscript whom I love very much despite her swerving ass that goes from jimin to namjoon to inseong and maybe back to jimin someday if he’s lucky. you’re so rad and wonderful and gorgeous and memetastic, and you meme so much to me, and i’m so glad that I sent you a message a little over a year ago screaming over your writing. I heavily based this on your recent messages lmao and I apologize because I know nothing about naruto (but i think it means whirlpool in japanese, hence the title lol) but anyway ily neo phoenix congrats for surviving another year!! *cue congratulatory pterodactyl screeches*

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You enjoy being a part of the UN Conference Club your college hosts very much. But do you enjoy the people in the club? Maybe not so much. First of all, how can some people be so dumb? And second of all… well, there does not really need to be a second of all because stupidity covers all of it.

During the three-day conference, there is a historical crisis committee for the Spanish American War where the main focus centered on how to avoid the war entirely in 1898. On the first day—which is the most formal day—the attorney general, Inseong, immediately requested $1.2 million dollars to fund biotech companies to end tuberculosis. In response, someone asked if he knew just how much $1.2 million dollars amounted to in 1898. He insisted that he knew and that it was only a small price.

It was equivalent to 7 billion dollars today.

And he had planned to fund that entire sum of money that into biotech companies, which were most likely nonexistent back then.

How did this kid even win Best Delegate? Granted, his face paled considerably when the 7 billion dollars were announced, and he revoked his statement, but still.

Thus, there was example number one of idiocy.

Example number two?

Park Jimin and his ridiculous antics.

On the committee you were assigned to—which was the international monetary fund—you all are tasked with coming up with a solution to the 2017 oil crisis. You think of several ideas, plotting them out and organizing them. Things are currently going smoothly for the most part, except for one damn person.

“Psst!”

You disregard the noise, furiously scribbling down more ideas onto the paper.

“Hey!”

Don’t look back, you constantly remind yourself, ducking your head down lower towards your notebook.

You hear an exaggerated sigh before you feel something light hit your head. Frowning and narrowing your eyes, you finally turn around to see an innocent wad of lined paper on the floor next to you. It is the fifth one that you have received today. You already know who it is from.

Park Jimin.

As a fellow member of the UN Conference, he is the delegate for South Korea. But, he is more known for his reputation as the one who keeps fooling around and framing his friends with ludicrous accusations. But more notably, he is the nuisance that continues to send you silly love confessions, war declarations, and “yeet” notes all throughout every meeting and conference.

Letting out a long exhale, you lean over to pick it up and uncrumple the ball. You are greeted with the sight of yet another love note scribbled by none other than the pink haired boy. You wordlessly turn around and continue to write out your proposals, ignoring the boy. A few minutes later, you hear a whine, and you roll your eyes.

“_______!”

Slumping your shoulders, you turn around and fix the culprit with a piercing glare. “What is it now, Jimin?”

He stares at you straight in the eye, a serious look fixated on his face, and you soften a bit. Perhaps, he is finally seeing the importance of the conference. Maybe he actually has a good idea that will—

“I love you.”

Or not.

Okay, so maybe your heart did a teeny tiny somersault at that, but you refuse to admit that to his face and inflate his already big ego.

Instead, you give him the stink eye, debating whether you should roast him in front of the entire delegation or not before deciding to keep your mouth shut. You realize your resolution needs votes to be passed, so you silently reface the front and quietly tuck away the notes from Jimin into your folder as potential blackmail if needed.

After that, you are pretty sure Jimin got the message. He even tried to participate in the conference.

However, the one time he attempted to be serious and attack the problem turned out to be a dud. As a solution to the crisis, Jimin proposed that all oil exporting companies make their energy sectors 50% renewable by 2021 and make profits off of the renewable energy from that.

You almost wanted to tear your hair out in frustration or maybe beat him with the growing stack of love confessions he gave you. But because violence is never the answer, you very civilly wrote him a long note, explaining why the hell that was a terrible idea because the entire point of renewable energy is that it is inexpensive because it comes from nature. Let’s be honest, how the fuck are you going to make a profit from that? What are you going to do? Sell the sun? How about the wind? Tidal waves? Seriously.

This dude is going to make you lose half your brain cells.

However, at the end of the last day, it turns out that your resolution passed just fine without needing to resort to underhanded methods. Oh well. But hey, you can always use those love notes for other blackmailing purposes another day. You turn around in your seat to aim a smug look and maybe one last roast at Jimin, but your gaze is surprisingly met with nothing. Jimin’s chair is empty, and the satisfaction you had felt for having your proposal passed ebbs away. Somehow, victory does not feel as sweet as it should.

“Hey, _______!” Startled, you look over to see Byulyi waving at you from the doorway. Her conference had finished ten minutes earlier than yours, and she had been waiting for you. Waving back, you walk over to her, and the two of you exit the building, now strolling towards your dormitories.

“How did your committee go?” asks Byulyi, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder onto a more secure position.

“It went pretty well. My proposal was passed as the resolution for our oil crisis,” you answer, kicking a loose pebble across the sidewalk.

“And yet, you don’t seem very happy about it. Is something wrong?” she questions. She glances over at you, concerned, and analyzes your dejected disposition, smiling mischievously a few seconds later. “Did you not receive the usual amount of love letters from Jimin today?”

“He wasn’t there today,” you grumble, then hastily add on, “But not that I care or anything.”

“Of course not, you don’t like him at all.” Byulyi grins, elbowing your side a little too harshly.

“I don’t like him!” you protest, stopping in your tracks and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Alright, alright,” she relents, tugging at your arm to pull you along once more. “Have you started studying for the chemistry test yet?”

“Ah, well, um, I took out my books and notes and everything to study but… I kind of got sucked into Naruto instead,” you confess.

“Mm, why am I not surprised?” Byulyi laughs.

“Okay, but I learned this new super cool move from the latest episode I watched. Look!” You move a few paces away from her before striking a pose and moving your arms around wildly. “So, first… it goes like this… and then, punch here and… I just gotta move my foot here… thrust my elbow out… and BAM!”

“Ow! What the hell?!”

Fuck.

You were definitely not aiming to actually hit someone. Panicking, you look at Byulyi, who only points behind you in shock. Whirling around on your heel, you come face to face with a gasping Jimin. God damn it. Of all the people on campus, it had to be him. You are completely wrapped up in this thought until you are pulled back into reality with a realization that there is an actual human being doubled over in front of you who probably needs medical help. And cue the panic alarms in your brain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Shoot, let me take you to the medical center!” You rush over, grabbing his upper arm and hurriedly pull him towards the center, calling over at Byulyi to go to the dorms without you. She nods in understanding, motioning for you to go on, and you speed walk Jimin towards the center for treatment. “We’ll get there in less than five minutes—I—oh, god, I’m so so sorry!”

“Wait, wait, ______—Wait!” He stops walking, and you reel back slightly by the sudden stop. Jimin drags you over to a bench to sit down, and you scan over him worriedly. “Oh god, you can’t walk anymore? Did I hit a nerve or something earlier? I’m sorry!”

“No, I’m fine,” Jimin wheezes slightly before giving you a large grin, eyes curling into crescents, as a carefree laugh slips out. “But if you had wanted to hit on me that badly, you didn’t have to hit so hard.”

“What th—” Your eyes grow wide before realization hits you. You burst out angrily, jabbing him in the chest repeatedly.  “I can’t believe you! I thought you were seriously hurt!”

“Wh—Ow! Wait! Ow! Hey, sto—Ow! What are you doing?! Stop! Ow! Would you quit it?!”

Jimin grabs your hands, tightening his grip on them slightly to stop you from flailing. Startled by the unexpected contact, you can only stare at him silently, mouth slightly agape in surprise. Screw Byulyi for asking you about chemistry. Screw Naruto for making you try out that move. Screw Jimin and his stupidly handsome face for making you feel so irritated, giddy, and confused towards him all the time.

But most of all, screw your heart for giving away your true feelings with the way it nearly palpitates out of your chest.

Jimin tilts his head to the side, looking at you in wonder, and you bite your bottom lip, forcing yourself to breathe as your heart takes a dive under his intense gaze. Tugging you towards him, Jimin leans in closer, and your breath hitches in your throat. He is so close that you can count the number of lashes framing his pretty chocolate eyes and his nose is millimeters away from brushing your own. Jimin is so impossibly close, and your eyes flutter close when his breath fans against your face.

“Hm,” Jimin looks at you thoughtfully, and you open your eyes in confusion. The corners of his lips then upturn into a genuine, but still impish, smile. “You wanted me to kiss you.”

“I—No,” you stammer, “No, that’s not it, I—”

“You like me, you want to kiss me,” he exclaims happily in a lilting tone. Beaming, he slips his fingers in the spaces between yours now, squeezing your hands gently.

“No, I don’t,” you feebly deny, face becoming warmer every second as Jimin leans towards you once again, grinning and noses touching. “I just… um… well, you see…”

Jimin does a pretty effective job at stopping that trail of thought.

His lovely, pink lips are soft and plush as they brush against yours endearingly in a way that stirs up colonies of butterflies in your stomach. You kiss him back as he gently bites down on your bottom lip. He tugs you onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely around your waist as your hands grasp loosely on the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. You can feel his heart beating just as rapidly as yours is, and you smile happily, your lips curling in the slightest of ways, before you pull away. Jimin gazes at you so adoringly, and you can only imagine that you look the same way towards him.

Jimin tangles his fingers with yours once more and steals another kiss, musing with a quiet laugh, “Our relationship is so backwards.”

You tilt your head in slight confusion as the two of you stand up, hands still intertwined. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I said my first ‘I love you’ to you yesterday, had my first kiss with you just now, and will be taking you on our first date in a few minutes.”

“First date?” you wonder aloud, a smile making its way across your face as an identical one has already found its place on Jimin’s.

“Yeah, I’m bringing you to one of my favorite ramen shops.” Jimin swings your hand playfully, then nudges your shoulder, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Would you prefer that we Naruto run to the place?”

“… You know what? I actually learned a couple of other moves from Naruto that I’d like to try out.”

“… Or we can just… you know… walk there calmly and happily like any other couple.”

“Good choice.”

[antialiasis]

Assassin’s Creed (the movie)

So we saw the Assassin’s Creed movie. (Disclaimer: I have not played any of the games; I’m discussing the movie simply as a movie, and rest assured I’m not judging the games based on it.)

I actually really enjoyed the first twenty minutes or so. That would be because after a brief prologue, the movie begins with the main character, Cal, on death row and about to be executed, and they show him starting off being coolly sarcastic at the priest, then being strapped to the table and starting to lose his nerve, and his terrified, trembling breathing as the lethal injection travels up the tube, and needless to say this entire scene pressed my buttons very hard, A++++ delicious pandering to me specifically, may rewatch later. This is then followed by him waking up confused in a strange medical facility, desperately stumbling to escape, considering suicide, and being dragged kicking and screaming into a machine to make him relive the memories of his assassin ancestor. Yes please, I will gladly watch a couple of hours of this movie.

Unfortunately, the actual movie is all kind of a slow slide downwards as the plot, character progression and thematic development become increasingly incoherent and arbitrary. It’s pretty and well made and everything, but that doesn’t save the script.

Basically, the facility is run by the Templar, who want to find a McGuffin called the Apple of Eden, which can supposedly revoke the free will of humans, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The main character in charge of Cal is a woman, Sophia, who sincerely wants to use it to eradicate the human impulse for violence, and she believes that the Apple of Eden somehow contains the genetic code for aggression, which I guess is supposed to let her destroy it... somehow. This is all apparently deeply scientific, because she is a scientist. The Apple of Eden has historically been protected by a secret order of assassins, and Cal is the one lone direct descendant of the assassin who last had the apple, Aguilar, therefore he has genetic memory of it, therefore they use this device to make him relive the memories so they can watch the memories as he relives them and find out where the apple is.

Meanwhile, they’re also holding several other descendants of assassins at the facility, for some reason, even though it is explicitly established that Cal is the only one with the actual relevant memories that they need. One of them is Cal’s father, who in Cal’s tragic backstory inexplicably killed his mother and then told him to run when he was a kid. Cal has always wanted to murder his dad because of this, and the Templar decide to give him the opportunity to murder his dad, because they think that will mean he will willingly relive the right memory.

Predictably, instead his dad uses this opportunity to explain to him that the only reason he killed his mom was that his mom was also an assassin descended from Aguilar and she wanted to die so that the Templar couldn’t use her to retrieve the memories and find the apple. For some reason, although Cal doesn’t kill his dad, this still motivates him to willingly relive the memory for the Templar, which reveals that Aguilar gave the apple to Christopher Columbus and made him swear to literally take it to his grave. This is before Christopher Columbus crosses the Atlantic, by the way. Drop it in the ocean where nobody will ever find it? Nahhh, let’s bring it back and keep it in a place that is in no way anonymous. Otherwise the assassins wouldn’t have anything to do!

Naturally, everyone knows where Christopher Columbus is buried, so the Templar head off to retrieve the apple, while the other assassin-descendants at the facility rebel and kill everyone. Cal sees a vision of his mother as an assassin, and she recites the assassin’s creed (roll credits) which goes something like, “To those who search obsessively for the truth, know that there is no truth. To those who worry about law or morality, know that everything is permitted.” This is 1) utter nonsense (of course there is such a thing as truth, nobody actually believes that, come the fuck on) and 2) a complete non-sequitur, yet this instantly convinces Cal that actually the Templar must be destroyed and he must become an assassin and retrieve the Apple of Eden. Because.

So the Templar go to present the apple at this big Templar conference in London, and Sophia’s father both takes all the credit and reveals that he never cared about eradicating violence and just wants to eliminate free will so that no one can oppose the Templar, which might be a plot twist if the movie hadn’t already explicitly told us several times that the apple's real function is to destroy free will. Sophia has a big moment of realizing that she’s been manipulated and that she’s complicit in this, then Cal appears in an assassin’s hood and Sophia chooses to stand by and let him go in to kill her father and take the apple. Except the moment he’s done so, she comes into the room, sees her father dead, and suddenly swears that she will retrieve the apple for the elders and personally murder Cal, setting herself up as the main villain of an eventual sequel. What? You just personally chose, after an entire film’s worth of buildup and a few minutes to think about it, to let him be killed! This sudden about-face is bizarre; I guess it’s a plot twist, technically, but it’s baffling and out of nowhere, and the film makes no real attempt to make it remotely convincing.

Anyway, then we see Cal standing on a rooftop with a couple of the other extraneous assassin characters, holding the apple. Film over.

Nobody in the movie tells people things when it makes sense for them to. The Templar take ages to explain to Cal what they’re doing; Cal’s father doesn’t even try to explain murdering his mother and instead just cryptically talks about how “they” are coming for them before telling him to run away and never seeing him again; the other assassins act completely bizarre towards Cal instead of actually making a sensible attempt to convince him why he should resist the Templar’s attempts to retrieve the memory. The semblance of actual coherent characterization present early on just kind of evaporates as the film goes on, and from that point there seems to be no real, proper reason the characters do anything. The actual relived memories are empty spectacle; they look nice, but there is no real attempt made to give characterization to the assassin Aguilar or make us care about him or what’s going on. The other assassins barely get names, Sophia’s character takes an inexplicable shocking swerve, her father is just generic evil. Everything I enjoyed about the beginning, how traumatic the whole experience was for Cal and why he’s hostile towards the Templar as a result, gives way to Cal the Cool Assassin Because Assassins Are Cool.

More than that, though, it’s morally incoherent. The assassins’ bizarre insistence that there is no truth and no morality is deeply alienating; they don’t come off as noble protectors of an artifact that would threaten humanity if it got into the wrong hands, but simply as a petty group of unrepentant murderers, who kill relentlessly not because it’s actually necessary but simply because they’re assassins and that’s what assassins do. (Again, if they really wanted to protect the apple, they’d have dropped it into the sea where it’d never be found instead of maintaining a secret order of assassins ready to continue to shed blood for it.) The idea of the Apple of Eden being used to eliminate the impulse for violence plays a huge part in the first half of the movie, but it just sort of gets dropped with a handwavy, “Oh, well, that wasn’t really what we were going to use it for,” which frustratingly skirts around all the potentially interesting questions you could raise around the concept to replace it with a generic “bad guys are evil, want to do obviously evil thing, good guys must stop them�� plot.

And Cal’s character arc... what even is Cal’s character arc? It’s established that Cal is a violent man and a murderer, but he says the person he murdered was a pimp, perhaps suggesting he actually did it to defend women who were being abused by the pimp or something in that direction, and a significant portion of the movie involves Sophia saying she wants to cure his aggression, and we know it’s all based in him witnessing his father having murdered his mother and hating him as a result, which turns out to have been wrong. All in all, it felt like setup for him to get over his hatred and aggression and become a better, healthier, less violent person, without needing to be forcibly ‘cured’ by the apple’s vague powers. But ultimately, he just... becomes an assassin and kills a bunch more people and embraces a creed of how everything is permitted, and none of this is presented in any way critically. It’s baffling and uncomfortable and I don’t understand what they were even going for.

But hey, at least there’s that opening. That opening, man.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

How To Wear 2018’s Biggest Colour Trend: Red

http://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-wear-2018s-biggest-colour-trend-red/

How To Wear 2018’s Biggest Colour Trend: Red

Scarlet, crimson, cherry, rust, ruby. Whatever you call it, wearing red is something most men go pale over. Unless your name is Jared Leto or your favourite team plays in the stuff, chances are you won’t have much claret hanging in your closet. Not because it’s unattractive (quite the opposite), but because it’s a big colour.

It’s a primary colour, but it’s also the most primal. The chest-beating alpha male of the colour wheel, associated with power, status and desire. Studies in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology reported that women were more likely to find a man attractive when he was associated with red. And sportsmen who play in red have been found to win more often and have higher levels of testosterone.

No other colour is so rich in symbolism. It’s fire and passion, anger and sin. Going into the red means you’re in debt, but in China, red is associated with good luck and prosperity. It’s communist and Republican at the same time. It’s the colour of blood, of danger, of lust. Throw in Coca-Cola and Santa Claus, and you have a hue that means a lot of things to a lot of people.

So what does all of that mean for how you wear red? Well, here’s something else that the colour is closely associated with: caution. Red clothes are statement clothes, whether it’s the flash of a sock or James Dean’s scarlet Harrington jacket. You can always opt for toned-down versions like burgundy or even a dusky pink, but at its boldest, red is the exact opposite of a neutral; making it very easy to get wrong and find yourself red-faced.

How To Wear Red

Minimalist menswear may have ceded ground to colour-pop streetwear and retina-scorching designer collections, but wearing red is always something to be carefully considered. It grabs attention and doesn’t always play nice with other shades, so think about how and when you roll out the red closet.

“Brighter colours like red are thought of as less formal than neutral or dark colours, and so work well with more casual items like T-shirts, sweatshirts and sportswear,” says Sarah Gilfillan, founder of personal styling consultancy Sartoria Lab. “If you’re confident about wearing red, then go for a red bomber or denim jacket, but if you’re not so sure, use it in smaller quantities – red trainers or a T-shirt layered under a navy jacket.”

Once you pick something red from the wardrobe, everything that follows it needs to be happy playing second-fiddle, even if you’re going with something more muted like a burgundy. “To layer red, choose one garment as part of the outfit to be the ‘statement’,” says men’s style consultant Daniel Johnson. “Take a blazer. This means you have a real stand-out piece, so neutralise the rest of the outfit and let the blazer be the star of the show. The most obvious choice after this is a white shirt and dark blue jeans – staples in every wardrobe.”

Consider also your skin tone, Gilfillan says. “If you have olive skin it’s likely a rust red will suit you; but if you have ice white skin and dark hair, opt for a clear, bright red. The darker shades of burgundy-red suit most complexions and are easy to incorporate into your wardrobe, too.”

Colours That Match With Red

“Red can be quite severe when paired with black, so think about wearing it with charcoal or navy instead,” says Gilfillan, who also suggests swerving red and white to avoid ‘hospital emergency’ vibes.

Johnson agrees, adding that the intensity of red should be matched with depth, pointing to navy and darker shades as working best. “I always try to avoid light, pastel colours when wearing red. There are too many competing things to look at with pastels.”

When it comes to neutrals, warmer shades like cream and brown can work, especially in preppy outfits. If feeling exceptionally bold, you can layer different shades of red with each other – a burgundy shirt with a trusty, rusty pair of trousers, say. Or if you want to soften its impact, remember you can add a touch of red with buffalo plaid and other patterns.

Now, see red with the 13 items that look best in the boldest colour in your wardrobe.

Red Coat

Weird but true: wearing red is easier outdoors than indoors. It’s like a wild animal; you don’t want to be locked in a room with it. That makes a red coat one of the most natural ways to wear the colour.

Set against a cityscape or the great outdoors, a burgundy or bright red winter coat is bold without being domineering.

A technical raincoat or large padded jacket works just as well with selvedge denim and hiking boots as it does over a grey suit. Or try for a soft wool overcoat in burgundy to add a regal touch to the neutrals in your commuter gear.

Red Shirt

Not all red shirts are created equal. An overshirt, for example, is an astute way to let colour into your life as it lets you utilise an additional layer underneath, breaking up the crimson mass in the process.

There’s no such hiding place when wearing a button-down, however. Unless you want to channel German electronic band Kraftwerk, take a darker, richer hue of red and pair with an equally muted pair of trousers.

A flannel shirt is also a good play to have up your red sleeve, a look favoured by lumbersexual and grunge fashion in equal measure. Stay true to its workwear origins and team it with a pair of hard-wearing chinos or denim jeans with clompy boots, because chopping trees and shredding guitars is serious work.

Red T-shirt

A T-shirt offers the most versatile way to wear red because you either unleash it proudly or use it as an accent under other laters. For its part, the colour injects new life into the casual staple, which can be smartened up with tailored trousers or played down with shorts.

Tees with a white logo or graphics against the red are particularly effective in an outfit, with the contrast making for a particularly eye-catching design. (There’s a reason why everyone from Coke to Supreme has harnessed the power of that particular colour combo).

If opting for a red polo shirt over a sporty crew neck, a darker shade will tie in nicely to the style’s sense of formality, tucked in and worn with a neutral coloured blazer over the top.

Red Knitwear

One of the easiest (and most effective) ways of wearing red as the centre of an outfit, if is isn’t already crimson knitwear should be on your radar for autumn and beyond.

Unlike other pieces when it pays to refrain from going too bold, there’s no reason why you can’t dial up the saturation here, since whatever you wear is likely to be muted by a jacket over the top or a pair of neutral trousers down below.

Brighter tones work well with blues and especially denim, so try combining a crew neck with a trucker jacket and tailored trousers. Alternatively, for a more dressed up look, go for a deep red roll neck and wear with a check two-piece suit. It’s bold, but for all the right reasons.

Red Jacket

In all walks of celebrity, the red jacket is straight up iconic, from James Dean’s rebellious Harrington to hip-hop royalty like Drake and Stormzy sporting the blazing colour in the music videos that took them to zeitgeist levels of fame.

Just popping on a red jacket is not enough to turn you into an overnight sensation though, you have to style it accordingly. For example, the ballooning puffer jacket needs to balanced with a slim bottom half – black skinny jeans or slim-fitting athleisure wear will fit the bill.

The cut of a Harrington jacket, however, is trimmer, the cinch at the waist requiring a wider leg trouser to bring equilibrium to your look. If you want to add layers underneath the jacket, while keeping the design simplicity of the Harrington, then opt for a coach jacket which offers a bit more give in the shoulders and around the waist while also working better with sportier streetwear looks.

Red Blazer

One of menswear’s most trusted items, few well-edited wardrobes are complete without a blazer. However, it’s possible that this hero piece would not have existed at all were it not for scarlet shades.

Members of the Lady Margaret Boat Club at Cambridge University first began wearing red sports jackets as a uniform in the 19th century, with their bright crimson hue giving birth to the term ‘blazer’.

Later adopted by Ivy League types and eventually the masses, today the word has evolved to refer to any tailored jacket designed to be worn as a standalone piece but still looks just as good rendered in toned-down shades of maroon and burgundy.

Red Sneakers And Oxblood Shoes

What worked for Dorothy in the land of Oz is not going to cut it on your feet, even if you are going to Florence for Pitti Uomo.

Despite being one of the smallest components on an outfit, red shoes are a risky footwear option. Fortunately there are a few safe ways to do it, if you know how.

For sneakers, stick with iconic models that can carry the colour: high-tops like Chuck Taylors or Air Jordans or low-tops like Vans Authentics. For smart shoes, oxblood is a rakish point of difference that works with most shades of formal trousers. Try a penny loafer, chunky Derby or monk strap shoe, and remember not to click your heels together.

Red Shorts

While perhaps not one for city dwellers, a pair of red shorts can be ideal as part of an off-duty, holiday-inspired look – and it doesn’t have to call Herr Hasselhoff to mind.

Try tailored shorts in bright red and wear as you would a pair in navy or stone – that is, with a simple tee or polo shirt. While undeniably bolder, they’ll give you a point of difference with your look that’ll ensure you stand out amongst the warm weather crowds.

Or, if you’re actually living your best life by the pool, splash the colour across your swimming shorts and pair with a good tan and a glass of something cold.

Red Trousers

No, we’re not talking about the Chelsea farmer look. A 2013 YouGov poll found that people actively disliked men in red trousers. But the style isn’t just for those who want to provide a visual clue for how rich they are. Wear them with a tweed jacket, silk scarf and a cocksure smile at your peril.

Instead, think of red trousers in a more streetwear context – picture Michael Jordan in his red Chicago Bulls warm-ups in the ‘90s – and wear side stripe joggers with a sweatshirt and five-panel cap.

If you are going to wear red trousers with tailoring, dodge the fox-hunting look by opting for a deeper burgundy – plain or check – and pair with an oversized overcoat.

Red Suit

When it comes to tailoring in the age of maximalism, any man worth his sartorial salt knows it’s all about big risks and bigger rewards. Sure, a red blazer looks great worn as a separate, but as the saying goes two reds are better than one.

Saturate your whole suit, and you’ll flex a look favoured by not only by designers across the board but by also by style icons like Michael B Jordan, Harry Styles, Nick Jonas and Rami Malek.

It’s not just about fire engine shades, either. For a slightly more entry-level option, look to darker hues that can be easily anchored with neutral colours.

Red Tie

Believe us when we say taking style cues from Donald Trump isn’t something we’d typically advocate. However, the POTUS has got one thing right: the colour of his tie.

We’d hedge a bet that Trump bases most of his actions around psychological tricks and hacks he’s picked up from business paperbacks. Which is why he knows that red is the colour of power, dominance and victory – a surefire way to let people know who’s in charge, which could just help you out in your next important meeting.

The first thing to bear in mind is the fabric. Shiny materials like silk are best avoided when opting for bold colours as they can look cheap and tacky. Instead, opt for something with texture like wool. Then simply pair with a white or blue shirt, a charcoal or navy suit and you’re good to hit the boardroom in style.

Luigi Bianchi Mantova

Red Socks

Socks get a bad rap. Whether you blame stylish Italians for kickstarting The Great Bare Ankle Revolution, or chalk it up to the novelty hosiery market (shudder), it’s little wonder they’re often considered an afterthought.

However, fond as we are of going sockless with a pair of driving shoes for summer, it’s important not to underestimate the impact these inconspicuous calf-coverers can have on an outfit – and not just in classic shades of black, navy or grey.

Pulled up with box-fresh sneakers or loafers, and peeking out from beneath a pair of ankle-length trousers, you’re guaranteed to stand out in a sea of monochrome in a pair of red socks.

G.H. Bass

Red Pocket Square

Some men relish each and every opportunity to wear a suit. Others spend days leading up to a special occasion quietly dreading having to squeeze themselves into tailoring. For the latter group, this can often be down to the fact that suits feel restricting to them. Stifling any opportunity for self-expression.

However, there are ways to inject a touch of personality into a smart jacket and trousers combo. The first and foremost being through a colourful and well-considered pocket square.

Choose a pocket square with either a textured fabric or tasteful pattern, but make sure not to match it to your tie. Opting for a navy blue suit with a blue necktie and red pocket square is always going to be a foolproof sartorial option. For a clean, finished look, fold the fabric into a triangle shape and place it loosely into your breast pocket. Or, for more of a rough and ready vibe, merely stuff it in unfolded.

House Of Fraser Howick

[nephrondehydrator-blog]

First 25% of short story

Original piece by R.D.

Winston was cruising down Crenshaw Boulevard thinking angrily about how he was sick of all the rotten heat and that he needed to buy a car with better a/c. He tried walking every chance he could get but still managed to maintain a weird paunch and a second chin that seemed permanently scrubbed with a thin layer of stubble. His burgundy off brand polo shirt had a big three piece white stain in the middle of it. There was one big stain, a smaller one, and a smallest one. It was like an island chain of cum. It had really come from a bowl of honey nut cheerios and milk he had been eating on his walk to work, but he invited people to speculate about whether or not he was a faggot and a slob.

This was the day Winston had been waiting for since he’d ordered the package six months ago. It was a rarefied product he’d been looking for, and he’d found it, but the salesman told him he’d have to wait. First the guys had to extract the honey from the Ugandan beehive, freeze it into a cube, cure it with chemicals, adulterate it, and crush it into powder. The result was Adhuru, a super powerful African designer drug that you snorted through the nose. Winston heard that the result was an out-of-body, multi-day psychedelic journey through a version of heaven or hell, depending on what kind of person you are.

Apparently the time dilation was intense and the journey felt like it took the user years to undergo, a strange, drug induced life extension. Winston had become obsessed with life extensions since he had started physically showing signs of aging around his early forties. It was finally clear that he wasn’t born with some special invincibility to the rules of biology, despite what he’d originally thought, but he was going to try and fight the passage of time with every thing in his arsenal.

And he had the Rube to help him, which meant he was a bit better off than even the richest and most intelligent of humans. The Rube, you see, had attained immortality and had been leading Winston along the Righteous Path to Infinite Control, which was the title of the Rube’s manifesto.

Plus he was willing to trip sit for Winston, which was a must when one did Adhuru. It was a certainty that the user would be out of commission for at least two days, usually three. Winston made sure Cynthia was staying at the house too, because the Rube tended to be a little unreliable. The safer, the better.

He finally saw the neon lit sign that marked the entrance to the post office locker room and nearly jumped out of his skin. This stuff would get you fucked out of your skull. He gingerly slid the key out of his pocket and, with shaking hands, approached his PO box, #123421, inserted the key and turned it. A small brown package tied with string was sitting on the inside. It looked like something out of a poem.

Winston pocketed it furtively and shuffled into the elevator and out of the building. He ripped off the brown paper and revealed a small clear doggy bag filled about an inch up from the bottom with a blue powder. Score. He tried to drive home as quickly as possible, swerving in and out of mid-day traffic. Once he got to the house up in the Hills he swerved the car into the garage frantically like a madman.

He dove into the door to his house and called out for Cynthia and the Rube to come up to his bedroom, which overlooked cliffs above the Pacific ocean surf. He collapsed comfortably into his plushy white bed and pulled the comforter over himself as Cynthia strutted over to the bed holding a large ovular mirror with gold handles.

Winston cracked up two huge lines of the crystalline powder. Cynthia pulled out a huge bowie knife and took a tiny little bump of the powder. She shivered a bit and then nodded at Winston. The three of them joined hands and muttered in crescendo: “antitha bududha nevari keparu, temami exploitus tormeemo dormamu!” Then Winston spoke.

“Goodbye friends. Please see to it that I stay safe. Thank you so much for making this happen.” He railed the two lines and patted his nose.

The old Ugandan shamans say that with Adhuru, if your soul is pure then you ascend into a kind of heaven. Apparently it’s different every time but the beginning is always the same. You begin to glow brightly white, in your own mind of course, as if an incandescent bulb were being gradually turned on inside of your body. You begin to vibrate with intensity and increasing frequency.

Slowly you ascend into the air as if crucified, like in the exorcist, and as you begin to vibrate faster and faster you blip out of corporeal existence, dissolved instantly with a loud “pop!” into an iridescent mist that blows away lazily in the wind or wafts to the ground and fizzles away naturally with a crackling noise and sparkles.

The same, they say, is true about Adhuru hell. Every experience is different, but the come up is always the same. This is what happened to Winston and it went about like this:

Winston had been sitting up on the bed under the blanket but he fell down on his back spreadeagled immediately after doing the lines of Adhuru. Almost instantly his nostrils began to tingle with intensity. He got excited because he interpreted it as a signal that he was going to light up and shoot into a few years of heavenly hedonistic bliss. That was, after all, the reason he had taken Adhuru in the first place. He wanted to live longer, but not in hell. No, he was expecting paradise, damn it all.

Instead he felt a skeleton’s hand tap him on the shoulder. He looked to his right, where the tap had come from, and a hand grabbed his skin tightly by the scruff of his neck from his left hand side. It pulled a disembodied translucent version of himself up into the top corner of the bedroom and held him there by the scruff of his neck like a baby Hamster. He could see his breathing, unconscious body lying on the white king-sized bed wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe. It was like something out of Calvin and Hobbes, he thought to himself in his state of profound mental disorientation.

From his position he saw his body start to change. It got older and older, faster and faster. First it rewound almost instantly back to infancy and aged with alarming speed, through adolescence, youth, and on through early adulthood. Once he caught up to middle age things hit a new gear. He saw his body grow to seventy, one hundred and twenty, five hundred, until finally he died after a millennium of bedridden aging. He wasn’t sure why he had survived for so long, but he decided to go with it.

By the time his body died, the Winston on the bed barely had any muscles or fat left on his body. What he did have left decayed quickly along with his eyes, organs, and hair. All that was left over at the end of the vision was the outline of a pointy skeleton covered by a decaying layer of epidermis. The epidermis began to grow holes and started to look like Swiss cheese. This was the point where Winston realized there was something wrong. He’d made a mistake. He felt like he was going to vomit up ghostly ectoplasm.

Then the hand that had been holding him in the air flicked him back into his decrepit body with a noticeable air of indifference to his comfort. It used just its pointer finger like it was flicking a marble or an annoying piece of dirt off its shoulders. He noticed his body flicker back into its natural and shape as he tumbled, end over end, back into his meat puppet. He felt a heavy thud as he re-entered his flesh, so heavy that it caused his body to fall through the bed into a deep, black void. Bright glowing green and blue tessellations followed his hands like tracers in the pitch blackness as he grasped for anything at all. He was tumbling, end over end towards a strange red dot that was far away and glowing with a brilliant light. Before he reached it, though, a gurney appeared below him, spotlit by an unknown source. The rolling gurney was sitting on top of what looked like a hand made out of psychedelic patterns, pulsing and changing colors ambiently every few seconds. Straps on the gurney seemed to magically lift themselves up and restrain him as he saw the fingers on the cosmic hand begin to close into a fist around him. Before long he was in a submarine like chamber made of psychedelic tessellations. 

Then all of a sudden he was beneath florescent white lights, passing his field of vision, quickly, periodically with high frequency. Nurses that looked like aliens or maybe angels flocked around him as they pushed his bed down what seemed to be a hospital emergency room intake hallway. Perhaps the psychedelic hand had been a cosmic ambulance. The nurse’s faces had an interdimensional quality to them, morphing in color and shape as light hit them from different angles. They had no eyes or mouths and they looked like wooden artists’ models wearing old school white nurse outfits with red crosses in the centers of their hats. They all had three fingered hands that looked like they had octopus like suction cups on the fingertips.

He felt long IV needles being pushed into each of his main arteries, including the ones in his neck. Gradually he began to feel sleepy, as if he were being sedated. He knew now he was entering his first stage of hell. To attain enlightenment one must wake up, and the first thing that was happening during this trip was sedation, being put to sleep. He figured this was as good a sign as any that he was descending into a hellscape. 

These journeys were always productive and necessary. Adhuru only revealed heaven to pure minds which did not have large flaws in need of immediate attention. Winston was flawed to the core. 

“No sympathy for the devil.” Winston quoted one of his favorites, “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” He braced himself for whatever and whoever was to come next as he felt himself drift off into a poisonous but undeniably pleasant state of sedation.

(to be continued)

[pcvkaplowitz-blog]

Before the Riots Started

Clare and I met with Josh on the highway to Managua early Sunday morning. Buses don’t run as often on the weekends so we waited for a while at the stop, which gave a friendly drunk a chance to come talk to us. More accurately he was talking at us, slurring his words, swaying side to side, blinking frequently with a big toothless smile. This went on for a few minutes until he must have relaxed a bit too much because he dropped the bag of corn he’d been carrying in his right hand and it spilled all over the side of the road.

We watched as he very deliberately placed his pail of milk down and reached even further to pick up the bag of corn as if in slow motion. His fingers raked the ground and almost secured the bag while at the same time, thrown off balance by this attempt he stumbled backwards into the road. The horn of an oncoming truck sounded as it swerved to avoid him. The drunk didn’t seem to register the danger. Widening his stance, he bent over again, slowly grasping the bag gingerly between his fingertips. Bag secured he stood upright again, only to realize he now had to pick up his pail of milk.

“Don’t spill the milk,” he muttered to himself. Perhaps the first words he said I could understand.  And with the bag in his right hand he bent over again, left hand extending toward the handle of the pail. He barely brushed the backs of his fingertips against the handle. Too gentle, clearly worried about spilling the milk. After another failed attempt our morning’s entertainment was over. The drunk strolled across the highway, successfully toting his corn and milk.

The bus came a little bit later and we got into Managua with no issues. A Peace Corps certified taxi driver met us at the stop and took us to the interdepartmental bus station on the other side of town. Enrique was nice, and I was glad that Peace Corps started using a special taxi system to cut down on the number of thefts and robbery incidents that still pose a problem in Managua. Before we boarded the bus to Somoto we made plans to call him on Thursday on our way back to town. Plans that would never be completed.

The bus ride went smoothly, I passed the four and half hours in the express bus reading, napping, and looking at the landscape. All the accounts I had heard made me thing the highlands would be lush and green jungle, instead it was strips of fallow fields and the occasional tree, almost devoid of leaves. As we ascended the color seemed to drain out of the landscape until everything was brown and dusty.

Finally, we pulled in to Somoto and were greeted by our volunteer counterpart who gave us a warm welcome. Elah, took us on a short walk over to her house in Somoto and despite the heat and the bright sun it felt good to stretch my legs after the long bus ride. We put our stuff down and drank water, there were no bathroom breaks on the bus either so I hadn’t drank anything all day. Although she told us we can drink the tap water I still stuck with the filter, despite the faint taste of clay.

We went out for lunch in Somoto and looked around. Lunch was tasty and the city seemed nice with a green park, a basketball court, a market area, even a Palí grocery store! We loaded up with produce for the next few days before we made our way up to San Lucas, the smaller town where we would be staying and doing work. On our way out of town we passed a funeral procession. The mourners trailed the coffin lying in the bed of a pickup. Behind the procession a sedan with speakers strapped to the roof projected hymns down the streets.

I thought of the funeral procession as we loaded up the taxi for San Lucas, trunk full of groceries, bags strapped to the roof. The taxi was driven by the Volunteer’s husband, Uriel, who she had met three years earlier. He was a local and spoke no English but seemed nice enough. I was surprised to learn they had gotten married during service without Uriel having a chance to meet the volunteer’s family.

I only really had one conversation with him, but I learned his family all fought with the Contras back in the day. Also, he used to work for the police and did operations in the RAAN. After some of his comrades were killed he left the police and started driving the Taxi. He shared some stories of long nights playing poker and drinking beers at the local bar until the sun rose.

We finally got up to San Lucas, about thirty minutes up the mountain and drove most of the way up a dirt road outside of town to the guest house we would all be staying at together. The last bit of the road we had to traverse on foot. The house was cute, bright teal, and there was a big garden in front and behind the house. The front room had a big hammock and there was almost enough bedrooms for everyone. I shared with Josh, but Clare got her own and our Spanish professor, Alvoro, also got his own bedroom.

It was a little remote but didn’t really feel that far until Elah told us she wouldn’t be able to come up the first night because she didn’t feel safe walking alone at night, too many drunks on Sundays. Elah definitely integrated into the community fully, besides marrying a local she know most people by name and would often stop for long chats with basically everyone. But it makes me sad to think she doesn’t feel safe walking around her own community alone, even after extending her service and living there for three years. Then again, maybe it was just community integration as to why she didn’t walk around alone.

Most of the streets in San Lucas were empty except for the drunks, at least during the times we were passing through, and it may be abnormal for a woman to go out by herself. Even the four of us, Josh, Clare, Alvoro and myself walking around together the first night attracted some attention. The police pulled us over to warn us about the drunks and told us to come in the next day to register our visit. I wasn’t as stressed by the drunks as I was during the subsequent visit to the police station where they took down all our information, from passports to local addresses, to cell phone numbers just for our four night visit.

Every day basically had the same schedule. Wake up at 5:30, shower, head down to breakfast and meet with Elah at Uriel’s house in San Lucas, go do our productive activity in the morning, eat lunch around 1:00, study a little in the afternoon, and eat dinner than go to bed. The breakfast was typical Nicaraguan breakfast fare, eggs, gallo pinto, coffee, some bread.

The first day we went to a teacher capacitation training. I was shocked to learn that the teachers I worked with had never taught the class before, but in the context of the town it made sense that they wouldn’t have taught entrepreneurship before it was required by the Minister of Education. Honestly it would make more sense to teach agriculture. Still, I was impressed by everyone’s participation and it was a good atmosphere and I left my first teacher capacitation feeling relieved. I have a better sense of what I will be expected to do in my site and more confidence in my ability to host and evaluate teacher capacitation trainings.

The first day we also met with some members of the mayor’s office and some international volunteers from the organization Raleigh. The town officials we just said hi and shook their hand, the Raleigh volunteers participated in the capacitation training. I though the Raleigh folks were nice. They do a lot of the same work as EEP volunteers, teaching business skills, working with local business owners, and they do the added part of microfinancing businesses. However, our Spanish professor Alvoro was not impressed their informal attire and said, “If I was director I wouldn’t let them into my school.”

I think the week was hard for Alvoro who likes to have a clear plan and seems like a very type- A person. I benefited from one on one Spanish classes with him and he was organized an methodical about my problems. He missed home and seemed happiest when he was getting his shoes shined at the bus terminal on the way out of Somoto. At night I could see the light in his room go on and off and overhead him telling Elah he slept better with the light on.

Honestly, it’s not like anyone slept that well. After finding a Chinche on the couch that Josh slept on the first night we were all on edge. The Chinche is a type of insect that bites you, sucks your blood, and defecates on the bite. The excrement can cause an infection and the bug transmits a virus known as Chagas with long term health effects. After that I was up in the hammock because it was the only place I could hang my mosquito net from. It wrecked by back but it’s better than risking it with Chagas.

The second day we went to a rural community and taught in the classroom with a teacher who we met at the capacitation the previous day. The conditions were harsh. Only accessible on foot and without any water I struggled to imagine the hardships that the community faces. When we brainstormed types of entrepreneurship almost all the examples were related to agricultural work. Nevertheless, the students seemed to be in good spirits and have a strong environmental consciousness.

Working with a teacher besides Ernesto who is my counterpart in Niquinohomo was eye opening. I realized again that every counterpart will have their own pedagogy and while Ernesto is focused and straightforward, Darline was much more prone to tangents. Still, she had a good rapport with the students and solid command of the material.

After class we walked down to the river bed, talked with a few women doing the washing and enjoyed the beautiful landscape. We meandered our way back to San Lucas, catching a ride in a truck about halfway there. I didn’t mind the slower pace of live, but would need to download some books on tape if I had a two hour commute every day.

We finally made it back to town and had our Spanish classes. Later we hiked up to a Mirador and got a great view of the valley. I cooked dinner (thank you mom for teaching me to cook!) and we tried to unwind with a bottle of rum. But when we were about to go to bed we saw a scorpion. We got a good video of it before sending it on the next life.

Our last day in the north was spent at a co-planning session in the morning which reaffirmed my thesis that each teacher is going to be very different to work with. We hiked a little of the Somoto canyon in the afternoon and cooked a pizza for dinner. It was especially delicious after spending a long time outside. Although our hike was beautiful I was a little jealous of some of the other volunteers who had done a guided tour deeper in the canyon and I’m open to returning there when some adventurous friends come to visit.  

Clare was the first to say that our practicum week was like a horror film and between the chinche, scorpion, and deserted streets I can’t say she was wrong. The effect was undoubtedly multiplied by the walk up to our house each night, illuminated by a flashlight the eyes of spiders that lined the trail reflected back at us. The metal roof of the house creaked and moaned as it cooled off in the night air and the lights flickered but even at their best were never that bright. Still, I’m choosing to view it more as a cultural experience and enjoyed learning local legends, like the men who turn into monkeys at night and the rumors of the blonde hair blue eyed inbreed community that lives farther up the mountain.

I’ve left the whole experience feeling like each site will have its own idiosyncrasies and that I can handle whatever is thrown at me. I wish I felt like the entire experience was clarifying but I left with more questions than answers. Overall, I think what is most obvious is that no two sites are the same, no to counterparts are the same and no two volunteers are the same. We each will have unique experiences and I will have to adapt to whatever the nuances of my site are.